


A Beach on Murkhana, 19 BBY

by svartalfheimr



Series: The Scarlet Waves [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cody's voice as Rex's Trolling Conscience, Fact:, Jedi Maul (Star Wars), M/M, Mission Fic, No bugs were eaten during the making of this fic, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Umbara, Slow Burn, The Chaotic Lives of Echo & Fives™, Unreliable Narrator, all the salt on Crait comes from the tears of Kaminoans trying to stop Maul from stealing clones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 148,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svartalfheimr/pseuds/svartalfheimr
Summary: “He and Master Obi-Wan used to be close. They were crèche-mates.” General Skywalker frowns, lost in thought. “I’ve never met him myself. I don’t think he’s even set foot on Coruscant since I joined the Order.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at Rex. “I’ve heard he’s fiercely protective of his men.”---Words of a new Separatist weapon with the power to wipe out entire troops reach the Jedi Council. They send Maul and his men to investigate. What they find is beyond what they could imagine.Jedi!Maul AU
Relationships: CT-21-0408 | Echo & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-21-0408 | Echo/CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, Darth Maul/CT-7567 | Rex, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: The Scarlet Waves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001943
Comments: 246
Kudos: 420





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rex looking at Fives' holorecorder: oh my god they were crèche-mates
> 
> Got the beginning and the end. The middle is still a work in progress but we’re almost there. I’ve also got a thesis to finish and this bad boy keeps taunting me. Can’t keep tweaking it if it’s already posted, yeah?
> 
> This fic is stamped Season 7 Spoiler Free! Haven't watched it yet. I'm not ready.
> 
> No beta we die like mne
> 
> [Update 10/10/20] I think to play it safe I'm going to put trigger warnings here for the entire fic: there's anxiety, panic attacks and I'm still not sure but, just in case, I'm going to add a tw for horror. If you think I'm missing something, please tell me!

“He and Master Obi-Wan used to be close. They were crèche-mates.” General Skywalker frowns, lost in thought. “I’ve never met him myself. I don’t think he’s even set foot on Coruscant since I joined the Order.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at Rex. “I’ve heard he’s fiercely protective of his men.”

Rex hums. General Skywalker casts his eyes downward for a fleeting moment. He shifts on his right foot. It’s subtle but both men have sharp senses. Rex can’t blame him. The last time the General had to leave command to another Jedi, the 501st lost a lot of good men. Kix drinks a lot more now when they’re on leave. Sometimes Rex can see how Fives stares at Echo as if the other ARC would vanish the moment he stops.

General Skywalker watches him like a shriek-hawk. Rex gives him nothing. At least, nothing he has control over. The Jedi frowns and looks at the hologram before them. Rex counts to ten then looks at it himself.

Zabraks are naturally intimidating. He’s never met General Kolar in person but, if he were a gambler, he’d bet the Jedi would be as imposing as General Koth. Jedi all share this indescribable charisma that has brothers naturally look up to them. Though whereas General Kenobi inspires admiration, General Koth inspires awe. Rex is not like Commander Gree. He doesn’t know why Zabraks intimidate shinies more than Kel Dors do. He doesn’t know if it’s genetics or something else. What he knows is that his experience dealing with Zabraks is mostly good when they’re on his side. Usually, those ones are Iridonians. 

Dathomirians, though. That’s another thing. Those he’d encountered he could’ve made without.

_Sounds a bit speciesist, vod_. Hmm. His conscience isn't wrong but, since it suspiciously sounds like Cody, he elects to ignore it.

The holoprojector displays a Dathomirian Zabrak with significant face markings. His gaze is hard and unflinching. His face is mostly expressionless and yet Rex can almost feel how annoyed the man is. It’s the kind of annoyance that can be read in the corners of his mouth, on his temples. It’s different from General Skywalker’s, which is usually plastered all over his face, or General Kenobi’s, which is not hidden by his beard despite what he may think. It’s similar to General Windu’s. It’s faint and, if Rex didn’t spend so much time around Jedi, he wouldn’t notice it. 

The file next to his portrait is a heavily-redacted one. And that is generous to say; only two bits of information are visible: _Knight Maul_ at the beginning and _Commander A-28 “Meisler”_ visible in the middle of a redacted sentence. No battalion. No GAR rank. Or, at least, nothing that hasn’t been redacted.

Rex tenses. He doesn’t need to look at General Skywalker to feel his unease. He almost wants to ask the Jedi _how_ he could know the Zabrak is protective of his men when Knight Maul – General Maul? – doesn’t even seem to _have_ a battalion in the first place. And Rex is no fool. No official battalion and an Alpha-class commander can say a lot. Alpha-class are unpredictable and they don’t play nice. When Rex was in Command Training, Alpha-17 was a downright bastard. They’re the closest clones can get to the original and Fett wasn’t known for his winning personality.

There aren’t a lot of options. A Jedi who doesn’t have a military rank. No visible battalion, a heavily-redacted file as lengthy as Rex’s list of shiny-related problems and an Alpha-class commander. And that is assuming Alpha-28 _is_ his commander. 

It could be special ops or intelligence. Neither sounds good but it’s better than the third option. No one wants anything to do with covert ops. No one wants anything to do with brothers who hunt down their own—deserters or not.

He remembers a _vod_ embracing his wife and kids. He remembers a farm and a life outside the military. He strengthens his mental shields. He does it softly, almost like an afterthought. No need to alert anyone else to his sudden need for privacy.

“Rex.”

He blinks. Skywalker turned off the hologram but still stares at where it used to be. His voice is soft and the clear lack of rank rattles Rex. He can’t help but tense.

“Sir?”

Skywalker remains silent. He passes a hand on his face. He looks tired. At this instant, he reminds Rex of General Kenobi. He makes a mental note to inform Kix that the general may not sleep enough. Again. He can already hear the counter argument _but meditation blah blah bantha shit blah blah blah Master Obi-Wan taught me blah blah blah_. Force gives him strength because, sooner or later, Commander Tano will probably be the same. 

“I trust your judgement. I trust _you_.” _I’ve got your back_ is what his General says. “No matter what. If you think this is a bad idea then I’ll—”

“Sir,” Rex cuts him off, his voice even. “Orders came from high up. It’s just a small squad.” _The 501st will survive no matter what_. “Won’t be any different from the Citadel.”

“Yes, but—” Skywalker grits his teeth. He doesn’t finish his sentence but Rex can hear it anyway. _I was there. Ahsoka was there and so was Obi-Wan_. He watches his General take a deep breath and he stays still. “Who are you taking?”

“Fives,” Rex replies immediately without thinking. “He should be back by then.”

“Jesse?” the other man suggests. Fives and Jesse—

Rex’s throat constricts. He doesn’t know why. He stays still. He tries to breathe slowly. In and out. In and out. A sharp nod. He thinks about Dogma. He doesn’t know why. He tries to stop thinking about him. He feels angry at himself for it. _Breathe, vod. In and out. In and out_. 

“Yeah,” he says and he can hear the rough quality of it. He doesn’t like it. “Echo as well. Tup.”

Realistically, he knows that none of what is happening inside his head is visible to the outside world. He is a soldier, a _clone_ , born to protect the Republic, raised to become a shield. A shield does not falter, does not crumble and does not yield. No matter what he thinks, his body was made for war and war requires stillness. 

Rex knows why the General suggested Jesse. Just like he knows why he said Fives in the first place. His men are good. They know the mission comes first. They know to trust the chain of command. They know to follow orders. Attack, defend, wait. Wait for the next move. Wait for orders. Rex waits for the next words, the next sentence. Skywalker doesn’t say anything. _In and out. In and out._ His men are good men. Good soldiers. They follow orders and they know the mission comes first. They are good men. _Breathe, vod_. They are good men. They don’t deserve—

“—ex. _Rex_ ,” he hears his General says and before he can realize what’s happening he’s taken two steps back and Skywalker has his hands slightly raised. 

_Out. He needs to get out._

“Permission to leave, sir?”

The General looks at him and, after a while, sighs softly and nods. “Yes, Captain.”

Rex salutes, knows he has five standard hours left before Appo takes the next shift, closes the door on his way out and goes to the command center. He puts on his bucket and nods swiftly at Jesse when he sees him in the corridor. He doesn’t think. He has work to do.

Several hours later see him in his quarters. He takes his holopad and looks through the clone register. _A-28_. He clicks on it.

< ACCESS DENIED > greets him. Rex frowns. “Override, CT-7567,” he says. < ACCESS DENIED >

He makes a call. He waits for a couple of minutes. He doesn’t take off his armor. The call gets through and the hologram displays a face almost identical to his own looking at him. 

“And here I thought you’d forgotten me, _vod’ika_.” Alpha-17’s tone is sweet and soft but his smile betrays him. It’s the smile of a cunning bastard. “All grown up now, fighting the fight, and you don’t call anymore. Not even a holocard for Life Day. What a shame.”

Rex snorts. He hasn’t missed him in the slightest.

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with one,” he says with all the sarcasm he can muster.

Alpha raises a single eyebrow. That’s the Fett look. They all know it. It’s the _I’m going to wipe the floor with your ugly mug you little shit_ look.

“Kote sent one.”

“Kote can kiss my _shebs_ ,” Rex says amicably. Alpha raises another eyebrow. Another day and Rex would’ve been perfectly fine with playing games. Today, though. Today, he wants answers. The other man seems to sense it.

“What do you want,” Alpha asks and all traces of humor are gone from his face. 

“Alpha-28. What can you tell me about him?”

At the other end, Alpha stays silent. The hologram does not move. If Rex didn’t know him better, he would think the karking thing froze. Alpha blinks.

“What about him?” His voice is too even. There’s no inflection, no curiosity, no guarded suspicion, no nothing. It’s a clue on its own and Rex knows it’s deliberate. He doesn’t like it. His throat clicks. Alpha frowns.

“Rex. What about him?” 

Rex puts a hand on his face and sighs. He _loathes_ that tone. He doesn’t want Alpha to use it on him. Cody uses it on him enough as it is. He raises his hand before Alpha can continue. He doesn’t need worry, he needs _answers_. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a couple of seconds and exhales. Alpha waits for him. It’s infuriating. He clears his throat and nods.

“Mission-related. Need-to-know only.” It’s not a lie. It’s not the truth either. Rex knows. Alpha knows. The whole karking galaxy probably knows because Rex can’t lie for shit. “Anything you can tell me.”

Alpha doesn’t call him on it. _Kriff_. Does he look that bad? It’s already infuriating that Wolffe, the biggest bastard the Kaminoans could ever create, is being _nice_ with him these days—but Alpha? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“28’s an oddball,” Alpha rumbles. Rex grimaces. All Alpha-class are oddballs. The older _vod_ ignores him and continues, “Couldn’t play nice with _Jetiise_. Got sidelined more than once.”

Rex makes a non-committal grunt. He takes a gamble. “He’s got one, now.”

Alpha nods. He smirks, though it’s quickly gone. “That one’s an oddball, too. Takes one to know one.” Ah. _Finally_ , something. Rex straightens.

“You know him as well?”

He sees the glint in Alpha’s eyes. He’s not fooling him. He doesn’t care. Alpha chuckles.

“What? Skywalker doesn’t?” He asks. Rex squints. Alpha smiles with all his teeth and continues, “Can’t say I’m surprised. Maul hasn’t been in the Inner Rim for a long time.”

What is that even supposed to mean? “You seem kriffing chummy with the guy,” Rex says, suspicious.

Alpha snorts. “He stalked into Tipoca City looking like the ocean personally offended him, wiped the floor with 28 right after meeting him and then proceeded to outright steal him from the _Kaminiise_ like 28’s a kriffing princess out of a holodrama.”

Eh. Alpha sounds _impressed._ If Rex didn’t know him better, he’d say it almost seems like Alpha actually likes the _Jetii_. Improbable, though. That would mean his cold, shriveled black heart allows him to feel.

“What about their battalion? Do you know some of Meisler’s men?”

Alpha lets a low chuckle escape at his words. Kriff. What did he say? 

The _vod_ looks on his left side, probably at someone, before Rex can say anything. The conversation will be cut short, then. Alpha grunts, jerks his chin and says, “Now that I think about it—Yeah, one of your ARC already worked with him and _Meisler_. Yeah, that’s right. The one who gets all hot and bothered by the regs.” He looks again on his left. “Talk to him.” Rex nods. Alpha smiles. It’s full of false sweetness with a side of manic intent. _Kriffing_ _Alpha-class_. “Got to go, _Rex’ika_. Kiss Kote for me.”

Rex snorts and says _kark you_ but Alpha already severed the connection. Still. It felt good to say it out loud.

He looks at the time. ‘Fresher then bed. Food can wait. He carefully takes off pieces of his armor and stretches his muscles. He feels tired, all of a sudden. Even the ‘fresher seems like a chore. He tuts and ignores the ache. He does what he has to do and does not think about anything in particular. His mind is strangely blank. It’s when he’s lying down with half of his blacks off that he realizes something. Alpha knew Echo had worked with the Zabrak. But Rex has never been aware of it. Echo isn’t always with Torrent. Since he and Fives went ARC, they’ve been bouncing back and forth between different companies, wherever they’re needed. Rex knows Fives is with the Wolfpack right now. Rex doesn’t know all of Echo’s missions by heart. It’s not that odd. But still. It unnerves him. 

The last members of Domino Squad are _his_. No one doubts about that. Fives and Echo share everything they can with their Captain. Most of the time, it’s karking exhausting because these two are chaos incarnate. Yet, Rex can’t recall a single mention of Knight Maul or Commander Meisler before today’s briefing with General Skywalker. There’s only one time in which Echo wasn’t with the 501st that he never talks about. Rex thought it was because that mission coincided with the Battle of Umbara. No one wants to talk about that one. Echo was simply avoiding the bantha in the room, right?

Right now, he’s not so sure.

*

“Is that a saberstaff in your robe or are you just happy to see me, sir?”

Maul does not react. If he rolls his eyes, he will only give him more ammunition. They’ve been waiting for words from recon for the last seven standard hours. His commander does not like to stay still for so long. He does not like silence to stretch on for so long either. Maul enjoys his last moments of peace while he can.

“Corporal.” The man acknowledges the Commander with a grunt that could potentially resemble a _sir_. “Tell me; would you rather settle down with a magnificent Twi’lek whose family is overbearing or a dashing Pantoran who’s more committed to the job than to you?”

Corporal Stat tilts his head, eyes still on target. He’s silent but there’s no doubt he’s truly considering the dilemma. This is why the Commander always asks him first. Maul stays still. 

“The Pantoran,” the man says after deliberate consideration. “I think that, in whatever sim that is, I’m still going to be fully committed to my own job so it’d be easier.”

The Commander snorts. “Still the romantic one, I see.” The other man grunts.

“Pantorans are also really pretty when they blush. What about you, Commander, sir?”

Maul stops himself from sighing. He already knows where this is going. He can feel gleeful mischief from his Commander before the man even opens his mouth.

“The Twi’lek, of course. An overbearing family means a strong family. Lots of relatives who want only the best for my one. I want it all. The Twi’lek, the home, the family, the kids—the whole shebang.” Slowly, oh so slowly, he turns towards Maul. He has his helmet on but there’s no doubt his face is as serious as it can be. “Of course, I could leave it all in the blink of an eye. I would for you. You just need to say the word, sir.”

Corporal Stat snickers. Maul sighs. “Eyes on target, Commander.”

“Why, sir, I already have—”

“Mission target, Commander.”

“Ah.” He sounds genuinely disappointed. Maul isn’t duped in the slightest. “But target’s less of a sight.” He gets back in position but Maul knows he isn’t done. “It’s a shame, really. If it were you, sir, I would watch it all day. All night, really.”

“You say this to all the Jedi, Commander.”

Maul can feel the other man’s joy bubbling. “Well, yes. But if you say the word, I promise there’ll be no other Jedi, sir.” He stays silent for a couple of seconds, letting anticipation rise and then says with all the seriousness he can muster: “I know _Yoda_ one for me, sir.”

Corporal Stat chokes out a horrified _Sir!_ and howls with laughter. Maul groans. He doesn’t need to see his Commander grin to know he does.

“Too much?”

He grimaces. “If you could refrain from inviting Grand Master Yoda to our conversation, Commander.” His comm beeps in Sisrai. The other two fall silent. He opens his end of the link. One of the DRK-1 beeps.

< KOOCHOO on the move. Heading North on speeder, 67 km/h. KOOCHOO is alone. No reported sight of WERMO. >

It’s not over yet. There is still a chance that the mission will bear fruit. The intel they have isn’t solid but orders are orders. He ignores his commander’s frustrated groan on purpose just like he didn’t react when the man decided to choose ridiculous code names for their targets.

Nute Gunray is a creature of habits. Wherever he goes, he wants the finest of the finest brought to him and he isn’t shy about his tastes in luxury. For him to spend so much time on a backwater planet such as Er'Kit and being discreet about it is unusual. The intel they received promised a meeting between Gunray and Tambor on planet. The Techno Union is officially neutral and so is the Trade Federation. This meeting, however, was supposed to bring proof of their Separatist allegiances. 

They’ve been tailing Gunray for a whole standard week and they still have _nothing_. Maul takes a deep breath. His Commander’s restlessness is affecting him. He listens to the man activating his comm.

“Pukaa, Koochoo’s heading your way.”

They wait for Kivan’s response. He and his team are too far away for Maul to sense them clearly.

“Copy that, Yana.”

Corporal Stat relaxes faintly. They’ll need to move out soon. The man lets his right gauntlet tap on his Commander’s bracer. The latter understands the silent suggestion.

“Comm check.”

“Kwosnyee standing by.”

“Kwelloo standing by.” 

That last voice. Maul is not familiar with it. He feels his Commander shift next to him. They know who it is but still. They’re not used to doing this sort of missions with strangers. The ARC trooper is named Echo. He sports striped _kama_ and a double-sided pauldron. The right side is the same shade of blue as his armor paint, light blue, _501st blue—_ General Skywalker’s battalion. Maul knows Skywalker is Obi-Wan’s former Padawan. He has never met him himself but he’s heard good things about him and the 501st. They’re an elite battalion under his command and that of his Padawan. Maul wonders how Obi-Wan feels about his Padawan having a Padawan of his own.

“Let’s split up,” the Commander says. “I’ll go with Kwosnyee. Schutta seemed too bored for our own good.”

“As the team medic,” Stat sneers, “I’d like to remind you that I will _not_ use analgesics for sparring injuries, sir.”

Maul grimaces. Stat should not have to say it in the first place. Unfortunately, when the Commander and the Sergeant are concerned, they all know it’s a reminder that is all too necessary. 

“Well,” the Commander’s grin is easily heard, “I promise I’ll stay good. And if Schutta doesn’t, you can always kiss me to make it all better.”

“Mesh’la,” Maul groans before the medic can respond. “ _Behave_.”

“Aww but where’s the fun in—”

Stats cuts him short by getting up and says, “I’m going with Kivan.” He ignores whatever response the Commander has for him and salutes Maul. He then proceeds to stomp his way out, takes one of the two speeders and is gone before anyone can say anything. Oh. There goes Maul’s mode of transportation. 

“Sorry,” his Commander says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I can give you a ride, sir?”

Maul sighs. It seems it’s all he does these days. “By all means, Commander. Please.”

When his Commander starts the bike and leads them to Kwelloo’s location, Maul feels something stirring in the Force. He doesn’t know what it means but he knows it’s nothing good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a (mandoa.org)  
> \- vod: brother, sister, comrade, mate  
> \- Kote: glory; which, in context, became Cody through cultural assimilation and domestication  
> \- vod'ika: in context, little brother ('ika being a diminutive suffix)  
> \- shebs: backside, rear, buttocks  
> \- Jetii: Jedi (pl. Jetiise)  
> \- Kaminii: Kaminoan; plural form should be Kaminiise but was never confirmed  
> \- Rex'ika: lit. little Rex  
> \- Mesh'la: beautiful; which, in context, became Meisler through cultural assimilation and domestication 
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- Koochoo: an idiot  
> \- Wermo: a stupid person, an idiot  
> \- Pukaa: red  
> \- Yana: black  
> \- Kwosnyee: grey  
> \- Kwelloo: yellow
> 
> Do you know how cute the DRK-1 probe droids are? with their lil beep beep boops and shi'  
> them cutie patooties


	2. Chapter 2

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

For a moment, Rex looks at him and he feels so karking _proud_. Echo is a sight to behold. It’s difficult to see the shiny Rex took under his wing after Rishi in the man standing in front of him. The eyes, maybe. There’s always something fierce – looking for trouble – shining in them. The same goes for Fives’. _You claimed these two shinies before I could myself, eh, old boy?_

“Yes. Sit down, Echo.” The ARC does not hesitate and sits down on the opposite side of the tiny table supposed to be Rex’s desk in his office. Which, to be fair, is no more than a glorified storage closet. It’s his, though.

He watches the younger _vod_ shift on his stool. “What’s going on?” he asks. Rex smiles. Echo’s always been perceptive. He knows this isn’t the Captain speaking. Rex taps on one of the pads in front of him, opens the file he wants and shows it to Echo. The other man takes a glance and freezes.

Hmm. Interesting.

The file is almost entirely redacted. It’s by quietly pulling strings that Rex has even been able to _find_ it in the first place. He sees Echo straightens and already knows what he’s going to tell him.

“I am not at liberty to discuss—”

“I don’t care about the mission, Echo,” he growls. He sees the slight flinch, the unconscious way the younger _vod_ hides his throat and he takes a deep breath. Rex is better than that. He can’t let himself be swallowed up by frustration. He puts a hand on the pad. Echo relaxes. There’s still tension left in his temples but it’ll do.

“I’m more interested in the men you worked with. Two, in particular.” Echo frowns. Rex keeps going. “What can you tell me about Maul and Meisler?”

“ _Mesh’la_ ,” Echo replies instinctively. Not what Rex expected but he can roll with it. Before he can say anything, the ARC shakes his head and says, “His name’s Mesh’la. Admin error, like Commander Kote, except he doesn’t go with it.”

Ah. Of course Alpha wouldn’t tell him. Bastard.

“Maul’s a Jedi. I’m not sure he’s a General, though.” Echo’s mouth twists, “He never said.” His left hand brushes against the blue handprint. It’s a habit he has when he is relaxed enough to do this kind of thing instinctively but still needs reassurance. Rex can’t make himself point it out to him. “Mesh’la’s Alpha-class. He’s very… Alpha-class.” Rex snorts. _Kriffing Alpha-class_. “We didn’t talk much.”

“How did they interact with the men?”

Again. Echo brushes the handprint. It’s quicker this time. He fidgets. Rex narrows his eyes. He’s missing something.

“Echo.” A flinch. “This will not leave the room.” The other man’s throat clicks. What is Rex missing?

“Do— do you remember what General Kenobi said to Commander Tano last time when we were on the _Negotiator_?”

At first, Rex is confused. He tries to recall what could have been important at the time. They only spent a couple of standard hours on the other ship, waiting for their own small ride to be quickly fixed because General Skywalker crashed it _again_ , and General Kenobi had only spoken to Commander Tano briefly, talking about Jedi stuff.

“When he told her about— Attachment, sir.”

Rex’s stomach plummets. This isn’t good. He knows what he means. That _Jetii_ rule. Forbidding emotional attachments. He gets it, really, but in an odd, distant way. He’s no stranger to the pain caused by losing a loved one – it’s _war_ – or feelings of jealousy. He knows how consuming they can be and yet he wouldn’t give them away for the entire galaxy. These emotions are what makes Rex, er, _Rex_. For _Jetiise_ , to forbid themselves to feel them; he understands. It’s a path to the dark side and Rex is all for avoiding the creation of new _darjetiise_ because they’ve got enough of them as it is, thank you very much. 

But Rex’s no Jedi. And he wouldn’t want any of his _vode_ to be condemned to follow this rule. 

Echo is ignorant to Rex’s inner turmoil and starts talking again, “I know General Skywalker cares about us. So does Commander Tano. I’m not saying otherwise.” _But_. Rex can almost hear it. “Maul—” Echo shakes his head. All of a sudden he seems lost. “Not even half of us came back, Rex. And Maul, he— He looked at his men and—”

Echo falls silent. He’s fidgeting and glancing furtively towards the closed door. Rex gets it all too well. Clones are made to follow the Jedi without question. What they’re doing here is bordering on the side of blasphemous. Rex is dancing on a thin line between genuine concern over an unknown factor regarding an upcoming mission and a sure path to insubordination. He’s not ignorant; he pulled strings to find that file and, even with all the favors he’s burned for it, he’s got nothing. Asking around about it sure raised some bells somewhere.

He’s not sure he wants Echo to follow down that path with him. Rex opens his mouth but before he can say anything the younger _vod_ raises a hand.

“I’ve never seen a Jedi look like Maul did that day,” he whispers. His throat clicks. He brushes the handprint again. Rex’s throat constricts. Whatever happened on that mission left a mark on Echo. He glances furtively at Rex and then casts his eyes on the floor. Ah. His stomach plummets. He knows where this is going. He’s not sure he wants Echo to— “I’ve only seen _you_ looking like that.” _Stars_. Echo fidgets again. His fists clench. His voice cracks when he says, “After—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. There’s no doubt what he is referring to, though. 

_After Umbara_. Rex held it together on the way back. He held it together when the 501st boarded the _Resolute_. He held it together when he had to give his mission report in the command center. He held it together when he had to give another report to the Jedi High Council. He held it together when he pleaded Dogma’s case to the Council, then to the GAR, and then to the Kaminoans. He held it together when each of them rejected it. He held it together when he walked Dogma to the transfer ship heading to Tipoca City. He held it together when the _Resolute_ took on a straight path to Coruscant without the trooper. He held it together when they arrived and he sent his men on leave. He held it together when Echo came back to them. He held it together when he stayed in his quarters and busied himself with paperwork.

On the second day of leave, the _Negotiator_ arrived on Coruscant. He broke down when Cody closed the door. He doesn’t remember what happened for the following three hours. He just knows Cody stayed with him and no one else came in.

They went to the ‘fresher, put on their greys and went to 79’s afterwards and Rex held it together. They drank, they made friends and Rex held it together. When Kix passed out, he and Jesse carried the medic back to the barracks and Rex held it together. When he was certain Jesse was sober enough to take first watch, he went to the small arms range and held it together.

When he saw Echo and Fives there, he stopped. Parts of their armors thrown haphazardly on the floor, blacks half off, they held onto each other as if they could not stand being apart. He took a step back and Fives froze. They locked eyes and Rex could see the flow of emotions passing over the other man’s face. He saw the exact moment he settled on anger.

Rex could hold it together.

Echo put a hand on Fives’ face and murmured words on his neck too soft for Rex to hear them. Fives was staring at him. Neither words nor kisses seem to register. He carefully extracted himself from Echo, still staring at Rex and roared.

Rex didn’t flinch. He could hold it together.

Fives walked towards him with fury in his eyes and Rex held his ground. Before he could get too close to be considered a reasonable distance, Echo tried to stop him with a hand on his chest but Fives shook him off. He didn’t walk closer. He shook his head at Rex, breathing heavily, and pointed angrily at him. He struggled with breathing for a couple of seconds, pained sounds intermingling with frustration, barely able to form words. He let his hand fall and clenched his fists, closing his eyes, his whole body tight and shaking with muscle exertion, painfully evident by the lack of blacks on his upper body, bulging veins and small tremors made visible, deep, rapid breathing racking his chest. The image of barely restrained fury, uncontrollable, painful and horrific in the apparent ways it hurt Fives is a sight Rex will never forget, a sight that will still haunt him right to his very last moments. 

It’s a sight he can never forget because he’s the one who caused it. 

“They didn’t deserve that,” Fives said calmly, softly and in utter contradiction with the aggressive stance of his body. “They died because—” _because of what you couldn’t do_. “They—they didn’t deserve that.” His voice cracks. “Hardcase, he—”

His legs gave out and Rex closed the distance without thinking, supporting Fives’ weight in an attempt to stop him from falling down on the floor. Less than a second after, Echo was behind Fives, holding him fiercely and Rex could barely hold himself together. He heard Fives’ pained yowl muffled on his shoulder, felt the shakes of the body convulsing between his arms and Rex started speaking, saying _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ over and over and over. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_. Distantly, he already knew Echo could see him when Fives couldn’t.

But Echo never mentioned that night before.

“Permission to leave, sir?”

Rex looks at Echo, at the way he’s still staring at the floor, at the hand unconsciously brushing the handprint. Even when _he_ is the cause of the ARC’s unease, Echo still touches the handprint. _Kriff_. Rex can barely stop himself from reaching out to him. He looks so young. 

_Tell me, old boy; are we sending children to the war?_

“Yes.”

Echo gets up abruptly and his stool grates on the floor. Rex automatically gets up and he almost expects the ARC to get out without a second glance. He wouldn’t blame him.

Echo surprises him, though. He walks around the desk, his back to the exit and before Rex can react he’s got an armful of Echo, a pauldron plastered to his face and he hears the clacking sound of their armors clashing and _kark, armors weren’t designed for this—_

“He didn’t mean it,” Echo whispers and Rex feels him squeezing his upper body. “You know he didn’t mean it,” he says. Rex wants to contradict him, to say this isn’t appropriate, to push him off gently but all he does is nod jerkily. Echo lets go of him and takes two steps back, deliberate. He salutes him, as if savagely squeezing a superior officer was the proper way to end a conversation and closes the door on his way out.

Rex doesn’t move for a long time. His mind is oddly blank. _I’ll bet there’s nothing about a situation like this in the reg manuals, eh?_ He thinks his mental Cody is as much of a jerk as the real deal.

*

When he arrived on Kamino for the first time, Maul’s hearts stopped beating.

He saw the privates – _children_ – training and it was not different from his own childhood, not different from being trained to become part of something _more_ and yet—

He didn’t know how to feel about it. What was Master Sifo-Dyas thinking?

Master Shaak-Ti remembered him. He did not know how to feel about that. He wasn’t even a Padawan the last time he saw a member of the High Council. After all, Master Jon never set foot on Coruscant and Maul had not even brushed the Inner Rim after he became his Padawan.

_You look well, Knight Maul,_ were her words. _We thought you died years ago_ , were her thoughts. Maul bowed, respectfully. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

Maul watched the men, fighting, training, demonstrating their prowess and skills, listened to the training officers and bounty hunters telling him _this one was trained with CC-01/425_. A heavy thought pushed through his mind; he didn’t want to take them with him, not when he had an inkling of what they’d end up doing if he did.

He was considering telling the Council he refused to be part of all of this, no matter the consequences, when he overheard a Kaminoan say _this unit responds well to command and I think you will be satisfied with the new products._ He felt sick all of a sudden.

He didn’t know where he went but he went, he walked and tried to release his emotions in the Force and suddenly he was in some sort of sparring room. The men there seemed more hardened than the ones he’d seen before and he remembered some of the first words one of the training officers had said, _the Alpha-class were the ones sent to Geonosis_ and _they’re as bullheaded as the original_. He felt their carefully-constructed stillness, the deliberate way some of them tried not to alert him of their presence while being hypervigilant. Years in the Outer Rim being hunter or prey made him tense. One of the men at the bench next to where he stood narrowed his eyes and suddenly Maul remembered himself. This was no way to behave around people who saw him as a Jedi first and foremost. He relaxed, slowly and in a deliberate manner, and saw the men around him do the same. He nodded at them. They returned the gesture. He liked it. Had he gone to a training room with younger ones, he was positive they would have automatically stood at attention. After a time, the men kept to their business and mostly ignored him. 

Maul felt _him_ more than saw him approaching, felt the cockiness and the faint twirls of battle readiness, the way he wanted to see _would the_ _Jetii tick_ and Maul prepared himself for the possibility of a fight, even though he did not want one—not when he knew what it could mean for these men, to fight against a Jedi, against _their masters_.

He saw the man, saw the cocky raise of one eyebrow, the flirtatious smile and the twinkling in his eyes and suddenly Maul wanted to laugh because _Force, he had not seen that coming_.

“What’s a beauty like you doing in a place like this?” the man shamelessly asked and Maul could not stop himself. He burst out laughing, his voice booming in his chest, his eyes crinkling and he could not seem to stop. He was being terribly impolite and he could sense the confusion among the men, the way they tried to act as if this was business as usual but failed. When he thought he could control himself again, he grinned. He knows how he looks like this, with his markings and his teeth and the fierceness in his gaze. It’s not flirtatious, not even attractive and verges more on aggression than _beauty_. He looked at the man and— _Yes_. He could feel it. 

“The last time I laughed this much, I was still a youngling,” he rumbled. The other man looked at him like he was realising something. Maul does not know what it was but he feels it must have been similar to his own realisation. The Force sang around the man and Maul knew _this was it, this was him, here was his Commander_. He extended a hand and when the other shook it, the Force felt stronger around him.

“I am Maul,” he left his Jedi rank out of it, simply because he should have given a military rank but refused to have one. “Have you ever sparred with a Force user?”

It did not take the man much time to recover from the sudden change. The grin Maul received was outright feral. He felt the Force tell him that _yes, this is the beginning of something special_ and— Well. Like Master, like apprentice, Maul let himself be guided by it.

A standard half-hour later saw Maul a bit winded, laying on the mats and feeling the stretch in his muscles. He’d sleep well tonight. “Tell me,” he felt more than heard the other one grunt, his rumbling chest trapped beside Maul’s right leg. “What is your name?”

“Mesh’la,” the man responded and Maul frowned.

“Your name is… ‘Beautiful’.” He didn’t frame it like a question and tried to hide his skepticism but the capital Besh could be distinctly heard.

“Why, thank you.” Maul wiggled his ankle softly just to hear him huff. “Didn’t know _Jetiise_ spoke Mando’a.”

“This one does.” A bit. “Enough to get by,” he amended. He pushed himself up, careful not to disturb Mesh’la but the other man was already getting up as well. They stood, bowed to one another and Maul fetched water rations for both of them. He could feel the desalination process while he drank. He hadn’t had water this pure in a while. He hadn’t felt this _good_ in a while.

He stared at Mesh’la and he knew. He raised a hand to the other man and grinned.

“Come with me.”

His Commander gagged and water splashed on the mats. He looked at him like he could not believe his own eyes. Maul could feel his confusion, his bafflement and most importantly his bubbling _joy_ and he knew. His Commander pretended to think about it for a moment but Maul already knew. Mesh’la would leave Kamino with him by the end of the day. Earlier if Maul had his way.

They took off Tipoca City two standard hours later without alerting anyone.

“Are you thinking about me, sir?” Mesh’la asks, back in the present, and Maul does not smile but he lets his face relax.

“About the day I met you.” There’s no inflection in his voice but he likes to think his Commander can hear the fondness. “How inappropriate you were.”

“Respectfully, sir, I’m not the one who decided to steal a soldier.”

Maul does not respond. He can’t see it because his Commander is a man who knows how to hide injuries well but he senses how _exhausted_ he is. As much as Maul is. A standard week ago, they lost a lot of good men to a mission that was doomed in the first place. They’ve lost seven men on Er’Kit because of _bad intel._ If he doesn’t control himself, he knows he will get angry and he isn’t sure he’ll be able to stop. So many good men and Stat is still in their medbay watching over Schutta in the tank and he can remember the look of stricken horror on Kivan’s face— _his dead, bulging eyes_ —

His Commander shifts oh-so smoothly and Maul can feel the plastoid of his gloved hand rattling on his own bracer. Maul centers himself. Now is not the time. They will mourn their men later. He takes off his hood and gets out of _Scimitar_ with intent. Nala Se is waiting for them. She bows her long neck to Maul and slightly nods to Mesh’la. It’s barely an acknowledgment. His Commander feels oddly quiet. Maul needs to stay calm and collected. He knows he can’t sneer at her right now. 

“Knight Maul. I was not expecting your visit. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

_Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ “The pleasure is all mine, Nala Se. I am here about a trooper who has been shipped to your facilities two standard days ago.”

He is not proficient in Kaminoan facial expressions but he thinks he can clearly see she is upset. _Good_. He barrels through. “CT-4385. I believe he was shipped from Umbara.”

She blinks slowly at him. They all know why he’s here. Maul has made a name for himself among the Kaminoans for being a notoriously difficult Jedi. He chose Mesh’la – or allegedly stole him, but that is just semantics, really – then proceeded to declare Schutta also as his not long after. He did the exact same thing with Stat despite the Kaminoans wanting him to be sent for reconditioning. He doesn’t do it on purpose, is the thing, but he _always_ wants the ones no one else does. It takes a thief to catch a thief, he guesses.

He wants this one. He’s read the mission reports. He knows what the trooper did. He and the GAR don’t see eye to eye on this matter but this is not his problem. He can have him and they all know it because Maul is Maul and there’s not much Nala Se can do to stop him.

After the first Battle of Geonosis, Master Yoda had contacted him. Told him the Republic needed them—needed _him_. Maul pushed for his own freedom, did not want to be a General but knew he’d already lost half of the battle. At the time, he thought he understood then why Master Jon had disappeared after meeting Kenobi. He also realised that, by doing that, his Master also led the High Council to look for Maul.

He was told he would not have a battalion. He was to choose a commander of his own and a small squad as soon as possible. He would be briefed directly by the Council and would only report to them. Out of the GAR’s jurisdiction. Out of the official channels. All of a sudden, it made sense. He understood then why the High Council suddenly remembered he existed. _Was this what you wanted, Master? For me to be an attack dog, leashed by the High Council?_

Nala Se’s soft voice brings him back to the present. “CT-4385 is awaiting processing. He has been senten—”

“Oh, he’s already arrived, then.” Maul smiles. Nala Se is staring at him like he grew another head. He folds his hands into his sleeves. “Very well. Take me to him, please.”

If Nala Se is annoyed by his bullheadedness, she doesn’t say it. Simply sensing how outright _smug_ Mesh’la feels is worth it. She leads them wordlessly through the corridors of Tipoca City and Maul once again is hit by a wave of emotions, remembering his first steps in these facilities. He throws a quick glance at his Commander. He cannot regret his past hastened decision to ask the man who he had met less than one hour before to _come with him_ , proceeding to fly among the stars and blatantly ignoring the repercussions he had to deal with afterwards.

When they are finally alone with the trooper, Maul relaxes his features. He can sense the fear, the doubt and the anxiety in the younger man and feels outrage rise in his chest. He releases it all in the Force in a practiced exercise.

“Hello, Dogma,” he says, softly, and does not react when he seems him flinch, “I am Maul. This is my Commander, Mesh’la.” He sees the nod on his peripheral vision, “I have a proposal for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a (mandoa.org)  
> \- vod: brother, sister, comrade, mate  
> \- Kote: glory; which, in context, became Cody through cultural assimilation and domestication  
> \- Jetii: Jedi (pl. Jetiise)  
> \- Mesh'la: beautiful; which, in context, became Meisler through cultural assimilation and domestication  
> \- Darjetii: Sith, lit. no longer Jedi (pl. Darjetiise)


	3. Chapter 3

If Tup stands any straighter, his spine is going to break. He is wound so tight Rex winces. He hears Fives shift closer to the trooper. He doesn’t avert his gaze from the holomap.

“You’re alright, brother?”

Tup jerks but recovers quickly. Hmm. This is a great start.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m good.”

Echo joins in. “Y’know I’ve been able to catch up on the regs manuals—”

Rex hears the groans and stops himself from snickering. Echo keeps blathering like he hasn’t heard anything and, the more he talks, the more Tup unclenches. Fives, who is usually the first to tell Echo off, hasn’t said anything and seems oddly entranced by his own _kama._ Neither did Jesse, who starts adding unnecessary – and completely unrelated – comments. 

“—stands for Raid, Ambush, Contact, Enemy of Force and Security—“

“Would you look at that. He can read the manuals but he can’t read food labels when they don't have his name on it.”

“—used to identify units on the ground to other ground units and to air support—“

“Couldn’t identify the polystarch wasn’t his, though.”

“Ah, _come on,_ Jesse!” Echo whines. Fives’ response to it is immediate: he straightens in alarm and reaches for the other ARC. “I already said I was hungry!”

Jesse sighs, aggravated. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say, brother.”

“He was coming back from—“

“No. _No._ You stay out of this, Fives—“

Rex watches them bickering and smiles privately. His HUD indicates his own heart rate gets slightly elevated. _Getting soft in your old age, eh?_

He can’t help noticing that Tup is perceptive, though. They’re waiting for General Skywalker to join them via holo transmission to start the briefing. Those present in the room are the only ones who will join the mission. He was told to pick four of his best men—no medic, no pilot. There are five men in the room, including a Clone Captain, and two ARC troopers. Rex will probably send Jesse to Alpha-17 after this mission and everyone in Torrent knows he’ll make a terrific ARC. All in all, Tup can probably come to the conclusion that he is the least experienced out of them. Rex knows better, though. Tup demonstrates high levels of creative thinking in the field, he adapts more quickly than other brothers when the situation goes downhill and he can put up with the other three for days on end—which is no mean feat. No one but Rex has had a mission briefing yet but they can all guess that, wherever they’re going, it’s not going to be a walk in the upper-levels of Coruscant. And they’ll be glad to have Tup watching their backplates.

General Skywalker appears beside him and the fluidity of his projection suggests high quality and a steady broadcast. He must still be in the Temple. Maybe he’s heard news from Commander Tano and the Onderonians. They all stand to attention in a matter of seconds and the General greets them with a grim nod. All of Echo’s good work goes down the vac tube—Tup is again wound tighter than reds on a cadet after a growth spurt.

“At ease, gentlemen.” The General taps on the screen in front of him and a projection of Eredenn Prime is displayed on their end. “We’re still waiting for one more participant.”

Rex frowns. He hasn’t been made aware of it. It’s not unusual but, considering the mission they’re embarking on, it’s enough to make him tick. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because another hologram appears on his other side. It’s a clone, that much is sure, and judging by the pauldron and _kama,_ it’s a high-ranking officer. The paint, though. He’s never seen anything like it and the cyan projection doesn’t allow him to know which color it is. One thing he’s sure about is his armor isn’t white. Too dark for that. 

The projected clone looks around and hums. He nods at Rex and there’s a definite slosh in the motion. He looks at the Jedi and jerks his chin.

“General Skywalker, I presume?” He asks and _yeah._ Rex knows that tone. It’s the tone of an Alpha-class. He did not think he would meet any of the other teammates before landing on site. He’s read about them already: a squad of five with one Jedi and potentially one medic and one pilot. Considering that he’s only got one heavily-redacted dossier, two names and one holoportrait and three of those are about the same man— _reading about them_ is probably not the most appropriate term. He knows they’re all specialists but that’s about it.

The Jedi nods politely but the grim frown on his face does not waiver. Ah. Apparently the additional participant isn’t only a surprise for Rex. “You must be Commander Meisler.”

Commander Mesh’la grunts but doesn’t correct him. Rex narrows his eyes. “‘S good to put a face to the name, I guess,” he says but does not give the General the courtesy of taking off his bucket. _“Eyayah,”_ he adds and nods to Echo nonchalantly. It’s the first time his voice doesn’t sound like he’s bored out of his bucket. Rex is surprised. No one ever referred to the ARC as _eyayah—_ no one he’s aware of at least. In a flurry of movement Rex barely has time to catch, the Commander signs _Squad Acknowledge You._ It’s not the regular hand signal troopers pass on to newer batches. Rex only understands what he’s signing because Alpha taught him.

Echo stiffens but it’s quickly covered up by a respectful nod. “Sir.” _I Acknowledge Squad._

General Skywalker raises a pointed eyebrow but doesn’t move otherwise. “Shouldn’t Knight Maul be joining us?” He asks smoothly when Rex knows he is clearly very irritated by the Commander. General Kenobi would be proud. Rex knows _he_ is.

Mesh’la chuckles quietly, like the General made a joke only privy to them. Considering the lack of reciprocity, that’s not the case.

“I am the highest-ranking officer in our squad and _my_ men have already been briefed.” He shrugs. _“Sir,”_ he adds after a beat.

Hmm. Rex does not like that at all. Judging by the way the General stiffens, he doesn’t either. Even ignoring the blatant slight at the Jedi, Mesh’la’s lack of direct answer can mean several things. It’s clear that the Commander does not approve of General Skywalker. Rex is not sure why but he’d bet it has everything to do with precedent discussions he was not privy to. The General has loudly shared his reticence to the Jedi Council when he and Rex were summoned on Coruscant and told General Skywalker would not be in charge of his men for this particular mission. They will have a Jedi but not him. And it’s clear Knight Maul is a Jedi. Yet he’s not the one standing next to Rex.

It can only mean two things. Either Knight Maul’s rank is lower than Mesh’la’s or he’s not part of the GAR at all.

No Jedi would be ranked lower than Commander. No Jedi would be under the command of a clone—Alpha-class or not. Marshal Commander Cody is one of the highest-ranking clones in the GAR and even he is under the command of a Jedi General.

The air is suddenly filled with tension. It doesn’t take long for the other brothers to come to the same conclusion. Tup’s knuckles are lightly grating on his cuisse. Fives shifts slightly to the side and, when his pauldron comes into the younger brother’s field of vision, the latter stops moving and relaxes slightly.

Commander Mesh’la taps on a pad and the projection of Eredenn Prime shrinks, leaving space for the schematics for some kind of war machine Rex was unfamiliar with before having read the mission briefing. It wasn’t reassuring because Rex is familiar with all of the GAR war machines and the majority of their CIS counterparts, including some that are still in the experimental phase.

The hologram shows it’s clearly made to fit droids rather than clones in it so the men can easily guess it’s not one of theirs.

“These are the schematics for the Pershing. Intel suggests development started right after the first battle of Geonosis. This bad boy is all kinds of trouble. AT-TEs won’t stand a chance against it.” A flicker of emotion passes through the General’s face but it’s too quick for Rex to decipher. He doesn’t need to look at his brothers to know how they feel. It’s probably similar to what he does. The Commander does something on his pad and the projection of Eredenn Prime comes back to its original size before zooming in on a specific region. A base is displayed. Rex grimaces. He’s already seen it but it’s still as unpleasant as it was the first time he did. That base is going to be a nightmare to infiltrate; it’s heavily protected and made to be impenetrable.

“The first prototype was built there and tested on site. According to our intel, the first tests were done three standard weeks ago.” Hmm. Rex doesn’t like these odds.

“Who’s your source?” General Skywalker asks. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Mesh’la replies absently.

“I beg to differ. How solid is your intel?”

“Solid enough,” is the dismissive reply. “We can’t afford to wait any longer.” He turns towards Rex. “My squad is small. It’s great for stealth but, for an op this big, we need more men.” His bucket jerks towards Echo. “From what I’ve seen, your men will do the job.” He goes back to the General, not waiting for a response.

“I understand your reticence, taking into account antecedent events, but I will respectfully ask you to stop hindering communication any further. If you’re not satisfied with what’s already been decided, you can take it to your High Council. But I think we both already know how that’ll turn out, _sir,_ so stop questioning my methods and let me do my job.”

_“Excuse me?”_ The General scoffs. Instinctively, Rex is poised to pounce. He bets all the brothers are. “You are requesting to send men _—my_ men from _my_ battalion _—without me_ for a mission that _screams_ covert ops and you expect me to—”

“This is not a request and I am not Krell,” the Commander cuts in with nonchalance and Rex sees the collective flinch. “Your men will be my men. They will be Maul’s. As long as they are under my command, they are my brothers and we don’t leave brothers behind.” 

The following silence is heavy and full of tension.

“General,” the Commander sighs. “We can continue dancing around each other or—” he abruptly stops and looks towards him. Rex has a feeling he’s not actually looking _at_ him. “I have it perfectly under control, I’ll have you know,” he says, bordering on defensive. He’s not talking to either of them. Tup shifts. General Skywalker crosses his arms over his chest. He scowls. _“Vod,”_ the Commander sighs aggravatingly, “he just needs to stop being so _testy_ and let me do m—”

Commander Mesh’la is pushed away by a trooper who appears next to him. This one’s armor looks to be as dark as the Commander’s. There’s paint on it as well and—

Rex recognizes these markings.

“General, sir,” the trooper says, and Rex is reeling. It can’t be. _It can’t be. He's been sent for—_ “I— I can vouch for Maul and the Commander, sir.”

The trooper turns towards the other men and faces Tup. He puts his hands on his bucket and _it can’t be. It can’t be._

Nobody reacts. Dogma looks at the General, his eyes as fierce as they were when he gave them his sitrep on Umbara, and he nods. “I know my voice holds no bearing on your decision,” Commander Mesh’la positions himself behind Dogma, slightly on his right side, “but please consider the urgency of the mission, sir.”

The Commander doesn’t say anything. The General looks conflicted but he nods. Once, sharply, then a second time, more slowly. His scowl doesn’t diminish but—

There’s a simple uptick of his mouth, and it’s gone as soon as it appears, but Dogma seems to breathe for the first time since he appeared beside the Commander.

The other men have yet to move. Rex knows he’ll have to spring into action as soon as the briefing is over. He starts a mental list of what he’ll have to do. They won’t fly out before at least two standard hours. He needs to find Kix, leave Jesse with him, clear out the small arms range on Dock Cresh for the ARCs and take Tup aside. He needs to brief Appo before the word gets out.

Commander Mesh’la puts himself slightly in front of Dogma and tinkers with the map. The trooper is still projected but half of his body is now blocked from view by the Commander’s. All traces of nonchalance are gone from the latter; his shoulders are straight and suddenly he seems bigger than the other brothers despite them all being the same height. He stands straight, the perfect picture of a commanding officer. Dogma is behind him and it’s clear the Commander has put himself between him and the rest of the participants. The position seems both possessive and protective and no one here is fool enough to think it isn’t deliberate. “The objectives are simple: take control of the base and find the blueprints. We need to know if there’s only one of them and if there’re plans in motion for mass prod.”

The drop zone appears, twenty-seven kilometers East of the base. “Captain Rex,” the Commander says and he realizes this is the first time the man addressed him by name and rank directly, “Sergeant Schutta will meet you at the rendezvous point—” another marker appears six kilometers North-West of the drop zone, _“here._ You will be briefed on site.” He looks at General Skywalker, who nods calmly and looks back to all of them. “We don’t expect any disturbance en route but stay sharp. Specs have been forwarded to your men. Be sure to be all on point.” A couple of _yessirs_ break down the silence on their end.

“Eredenn Prime is halfway through the night cycle from where the base stands. There will be no light for at least three standard months. Registered temperatures are usually between 0 to 3 standard. That doesn’t warrant rebreather hoods but you better bring thermal suits because I’m not sharing mine,” the Commander says wryly. Rex can hear Echo chuckle. Apart from Tup, the men seem to have relaxed a bit. “The base has a signal jammer with a fifteen-kilometer radius. According to our source, they have no communication with the external world at all and use an encrypted closed-circuit comm system. We’ll use that to our advantage.” He stays silent for a moment then sighs. “Since the entire planet is aligned with the Seppies, we better be extra smooth on that one. I’m not saying to make it a quickie but we may have to escape through the bedroom window.” _No backup_ is what Rex understands. It’s not a suicide mission but the odds are definitely not in their favor. He knows; he has calculated them himself three times. There are too many variables that they can’t account for and too many ways this could go wrong. And they are going to work with a Jedi they’re not familiar with. Rex hates these odds as much as General Skywalker does but he knows they need to go. A weapon like that will considerably up the number of casualties on the field. He sees the General glancing at him and he knows they’re both thinking the same thing.

It’s not ideal but they don’t really have a choice.

The Commander’s helmet turns to each of the participants and, when there are no questions, he nods swiftly.

“Godspeed, brothers.” With that, he cuts down the transmission. The silence that follows is heavy.

Fives, of course, is the one to break it. “Did he say Sergeant _Schutta?”_ No one answers him. No one talks about the veermok in the room. The General sighs.

“Captain, I need to talk to you about Onderon.” Rex nods and dismisses the men. His stomach plummets. He needs to take care of his men and he knows it’s a priority but he completely forgot about Commander Tano. Guilt starts rattling him and the General raises his hands, “Ahsoka’s fine, Rex. Simmer down.” He does but he still feels unbalanced. He tries not to fixate on _who_ was with them a couple of minutes before. “The rebels successfully took down the generator but—”

Rex lets the words wash over him and tries not to shake. He can’t help but worry because Tup has not reacted _at all_ since he saw Dogma. He knows his men, knows how they react, who they are close to and who they don’t get along with. Tup and Dogma were batchmates and the only survivors of their cadet squad, shipped to the 501st right before Umbara. Tup isn’t a shiny anymore but Rex knows seeing his batchmate is still alive despite the odds isn’t something he can walk off easily.

He listens to General Skywalker and plans.

*

_This won’t do_ is the first thing Stat says when he comes aboard _Scimitar._ Schutta splutters and Stat puts a hand on his head, tilts it on the side and jabs a hypo in his neck without preamble. When the Sergeant squeaks, he rolls his eyes.

“All this space and you don’t even have a medbay,” he huffs. He looks around the storage bays and growls _you don’t even have an emdee droid!_

“No wonder you barge in my sick berth looking like Gray rotten womp rats,” he says, exasperated. Schutta starts arguing with him and Maul feels the eyes of his Commander on his back. He can feel his skepticism. He approaches him so the man can easily whisper, “you’re really sure that’s a good idea, sir? Have you seen his file?”

Maul has not. He doesn’t know yet that Stat’s squad was the best one when they graduated. _Bravo Squad._ Solid troopers with one cross-trained as a medic, shipped straight to Ryloth under the command of Jedi Master Ima-Gun Di and under the tutelage of Captain Keeli.

Maul doesn’t know yet that Stat was the only survivor.

Immediately shipped out to join the Mud Jumpers on Mimban. To tend to his brothers’ wounds, knowing there was nothing he could really do to alleviate their pain due to low supplies, yelling at the Kaminoan doctor out of frustration and getting his first strike. Sent straight to the Kaliida Shoals Medical Center to follow Nala Se’s orders and yet ignoring them multiple times when he thought he could come up with a better solution. Accumulating strikes, getting less and less tasks to accomplish. _Erratic, insubordinate, undisciplined._ His considerable skills wouldn’t have saved him from reconditioning.

When Maul barged into the station half an hour before, carrying a septic Schutta and looking at Stat with worry in his eyes, the medic simply rolled his eyes and told him to _lay him down there and step back so I can do my job._ Maul obeyed and Stat proceeded to ignore him until Schutta was dealt with. He then started lecturing him on how to properly dress wounds and look for signs of blood poisoning, _40.7 standard is_ not _within regular body temperatures for humans_ and _you cannot expect them to recover as quickly as you because they are neither Jedi nor Zabraks_ and Maul felt thoroughly chastised like he hadn’t since he had been a youngling and engaging with Kit in youthful shenanigans. He stared at Stat and nodded mutely. 

In that moment, The Force was flaring around him, bright like a star and Maul knew. He knew, he was sure of it. He’d have Stat coming back on _Scimitar_ with them. He was not leaving without him. The Force sang around the man, _him, yes, him, he doesn’t belong there, he belongs to the stars._

“I don’t need to, Mesh’la,” he whispers back and his Commander huffs.

“We’re going to have a discussion sooner or later about kidnapping every other _vod_ you come across, sir.” At Maul’s confused look, he sighs. “A medic would be great for us but we can’t keep picking up brothers every time you see one.”

“That’s not true,” he huffs. “We’ve worked with Commander Ponds in the past and I’ve never—” he frowns, “ _kidnapped_ him. I also happen to have ongoing correspondences with Alpha and Commander Thire. I don’t see them here.” He tilts his head and looks at him wryly. “Do you?”

“Ongoing _correspond_ — _Manda, jetii!”_ His Commander swears, clearly too aggravated considering the situation. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“The Force led us to Stat, Commander,” Maul says. “It would be unwise not to follow through.”

Mesh’la stares at him for a long moment and he can feel the swirl of emotions going through him. The deep, breaking waves of loyalty, resignation and protectiveness of his Commander are always challenging for Maul.

“Stat,” Mesh’la says, eyes still on him. The medic stands to attention immediately. “How long to pack your full kit and gear?”

“Sir?”

Maul approaches him. He sees the way Stat’s eyes widen.

“You’re coming with us,” the Commander says, leaving no room for argument.

Stat lets a disbelieving laugh escape. “You can’t be serious,” he says. Maul smiles.

“You can choose to stay here,” he tells him, “or you can come with us.” He takes the medic’s hands in his own. “What we do in the battlefield is different from what you have been trained for. It won’t always be by the book but you will stand among us and we will fight together.”

“As brothers,” his Commander adds. Schutta nods in agreement. Maul watches the way Stat looks at each of them, assessing, and suppresses a grin. The _vod_ has not let go of his hands; he’s already won. He watches the struggle in the medic’s face and he waits. _He belongs to the stars,_ the Force hums, and Maul can’t agree more.

A standard half-hour later, he and Stat go back to the station, take one emdee droid, a bacta tank for Schutta to fix and enough to start their own medbay without taking low-running supplies then fly out without alerting anyone.

When they are in hyperspace, Maul sends a message to Master Windu informing him that _he has a medic now_ and _he will not give him back._ He doesn’t wait for a response. He likes to think he was partly responsible for Windu’s hair loss when he and Depa were younger.

_If you aren’t a general then what are you_ is the first thing Stat asks when he wakes up aboard _Scimitar_ for the first time.

“A Jedi who steals brothers,” Mesh’la says and Schutta confirms by nodding sagely into his cup of tea. Stat shrugs, signs _OK_ and proceeds to lecture all of them on proper field care.

A couple of months later _Scimitar_ welcomes a new addition to their crew. Dogma takes his first steps in the ship and Maul feels the Force hums in content around him. _Yes. This is right. He belongs here._

Dogma is wary at first. He’s always on edge whenever Maul is in the room and he never lets the saberstaff out of his sight. He does _not_ trust Maul and it has everything to do with him being a Jedi—which is to be expected. Maul does not like to see him always on guard and clearly hypervigilant around him but he knows nothing but time will let the _vod_ consider him as other than a threat as soon as he is aware of him being there. He always makes noise to announce his presence and is always on sight from every entry whenever he meditates in _Scimitar._ He tries to make it inconspicuous but his men know him better. They don’t comment on it and Mesh’la always greets Dogma by name whenever Maul is nearby. 

One time, when all of them eat together a decent meal that isn't veg-meat rations seasoned with nothing, he tries to speak to Dogma in Mando’a and, when he sees the _vod_ ’s face fall, he knows he made a mistake.

“I don’t understand Mandalorian,” Dogma admits shamefully and the _vode_ stop eating. Stat puts a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, I didn’t either,” he says companionably. “My first trainer was Corellian. ‘s where I get my accent.” He shrugs. “These three speak it all the time so I’m catching up. I can give you pointers, if you want.”

They all wait for an answer and when Dogma smiles then nods it feels like all the tension is sucked out of the ready room. Schutta taps on his other shoulder and it almost makes him topple. The Sergeant lets out a booming laugh and squeezes the _vod_ ’s neck in affection. Maul shakes his head. The day Schutta does something delicately has yet to happen.

“I should be the one to teach you, _vod’ika._ Because this one’s a ten-percent teacher,” he says pointing to Mesh’la who replies with a rude gesture, “and this one talks weird,” he adds, jutting his chin out toward Maul. 

“A Protector taught me Mando’a,” he informs them. Everytime he speaks with someone from Mandalore, they always dislike his accent. Mesh’la and Schutta do not have the same accent as the New Mandalorians and they definitely do not share the same vocabulary but theirs is different from the one Maul was taught. He guesses it may be because Jango Fett had the Concord Dawn inflection shared by most Mandalorians, whereas Maul was taught the language by a microculture who shares a distinct accent. It’s ironic; Mandalorians either dislike him because he is a Jedi or because his accent implies a warrior culture based on traditions.

“Skull Leader, right?” Mesh’la asks. Maul nods. He snorts, “Yeah. Figured you two shared history.”

“Oi, Commander,” Stat says with humour in his tone, “is that jealousy I hear?”

_“Bal'ban,”_ Mesh’la says, putting his bowl on the table and pointing at himself. _“I_ should’ve been the one to teach him.” He lets his gaze slide towards him and Maul stops himself from sighing. Mesh’la smiles and his eyes shine with mischief. “Of course, I can teach you plenty of other things. Just say the word, sir.”

Schutta and Stat snickers but Dogma turns red. Maul steals a piece of Jogan fruit from his Commander's bowl with his chopsticks. Schutta eats it before Maul can and acts like nothing happened, avoiding Stat's elbow in the process.

“Mando’a isn’t difficult for an adult to learn. It’s primarily a spoken language.” Maul says, ignoring them, and adds as an aside, “much easier than Shyriiwook.”

“Wookiee language, right?” Stat asks rhetorically. He hums, “most sentients don’t have the right vocal apparatus for it.”

“Trust me, I know,” Maul grumbles. At his men’s questioning looks, he sighs. “I may have tried to learn it as a youngling.” Oh, how Obi-Wan had laughed. He sees himself, practising the simplest greeting he could find, one to say to Master Tyvokka, with Obi-Wan and Luminara laughing merrily at his deplorable attempts. He remembers his discontent, how utterly miserable he had felt failing at something for perhaps the first time in his short life. He also remembers his frustration and how Master Plo had woken him up in the library after finding every text he could find about Master Tyvokka’s language. His Shyriiwook is deplorable, even now, but Maul can confidently say he speaks Kel Dor very well. “I’m terrible at it. It’s possible that all the Wookiees in the galaxy shudder in horror every time I try to speak it,” he says wryly. 

Dogma giggles. It’s sudden, bubbling and uncontrolled, a merry sound escaping from his throat. Maul smiles and he can feel his own laughter warming his chest. He feels the sheer happiness and contentment emanating from his men and basks in it.

After this conversation, Dogma stops being hypervigilant every time he sees Maul. Little by little, he accepts touch and, one day, he rattles his gauntlet with Maul’s bracer before going out of _Scimitar._ The _vode_ seem happier after that.

It takes Maul more time than it should to realise something isn’t right. Dogma always hides his face, especially when he is around the other _vode._ He often puts his hands on it, shades his eyes even when the lights are on low, and Maul realises Dogma does not want them to see his face.

Maul does not understand. There is nothing wrong with his face and he tells him so. Dogma nods but Maul can feel he does it out of respect. He sees the man glancing at his _vode_ and he understands now. Out of the four of them, Dogma is the only one with facial markings. He’s the most visible of his _vode_ , the one who will always attract the stares of passersby first. When not on mission, Schutta and Mesh’la don’t mind getting attention because of their physiques. Dogma avoids it. He always tries to make himself as inconspicuous as he can.

“Dogma,” Maul says. When the other man looks at him, he smiles. He takes the man’s hands and puts them on his own face. “Next to me, _no one_ will look at you twice.”

Maul is all too aware how Dogma feels. All of his childhood in the Temple has been similar. He has carefully crafted himself into a man of soft-spoken words and warm gestures, adopting a stance projecting calm and serenity rather than violence and submission. Zabraks are fierce creatures, beast-like and predatory compared to humans and generation upon generation of selective breeding led Nightbrothers to become savage warriors engineered for combat and servitude. Times have changed and humanocentrist views are less predominant within the confines of the Republic but Maul, since infancy, was to become a Jedi and had to struggle against bigotry and prejudice more than he would like to admit. Dathomirians are naturally force-sensitive but also Darksiders. All too often, it appeared that, even if he had been raised among Jedi, Maul would always be seen as a Nightbrother first and foremost.

“And even if they do,” he says while brushing careful thumbs on the _vod's_ hands, “they will only see you for what you are.” He takes the hands away from his face, carefully closes them into fists and squeezes. “A warrior,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

It takes a while, but Dogma’s fierce gaze and answering nod, even if small and unsure, lifts the weight against Maul’s chest.

“Wouldn’t they see me as a clone, first?”

Maul hums. “Sometimes,” he amends. “Just like some will first see me as a slave.”

It’s a low move but it works; Dogma flinches hard. Maul drops his chin in concentration and stares at the other man’s hands. “We are more than what we were made to be,” he whispers. 

_We are more than our bodies,_ Master Jon had told him three months into his apprenticeship.

“The Force led me to you, Dogma.” He tilts his head to the side. “It led me to you and I could feel _you._ The Force does not care about our origins. It flows through every being and each and every one of them resonates differently through it.”

He feels Dogma’s hands taking his and focuses on the Force around them, projecting serenity.

“Sir,” his Commander’s voice resonates throughout _Scimitar'_ s comm system, “Incoming transmission from Coruscant.”

Maul groans and Dogma stiffens. He sucks his teeth then softly nudges Dogma’s shoulder with one of his horns. The other man laughs in surprise. They stay like this for a short while.

“He’s coming, Commander,” he says between chuckles and Maul sighs dramatically. Dogma snorts then smoothly extracts himself before disappearing from view.

“Sir,” his Commander singsongs, “they won’t stop until you respond.”

He’s right, Maul knows. He heads to the lift leading to the upper deck. His Commander is alone, sprawled in the pilot seat, eyes on the blue tunnel of hyperspace before them. When Maul comes behind him, he turns his chair and gasps.

“If you were a Deece, sir, you’d be set on stunning.”

Maul rolls his eyes and tries not to smile at the snicker it earns him. He sets himself in front of the holopod and sighs. He opens the connection.

“Yes?” he asks, not pretending to hide the frustration in his voice.

Master Windu raises an eyebrow at his tone. A small part of Maul wants to shrink down on himself but he resists it. He is not a youngling anymore. He bows respectfully nonetheless. He receives a curt nod for his insolence.

“CT-4385,” Master Windu says and Maul restrains himself from sighing. He knew this was coming. It doesn’t mean he is happy about it being so soon.

Taking Dogma has been a gamble. When they took him in, they were still dealing with the loss of their brothers, Schutta was still in critical condition and Maul was still reeling from the dark pulls of the Force he felt when they encountered Feral Opress.

Knowing a Nightbrother killed Master Jinn on Naboo had been very challenging for Maul. Master Jon was there to help him deal with it but his Master was never particularly good at it. Not that Maul resented him for it. His years of Padawanship under his Master were some of the best of his life. Learning that a Nightsister became Count Dooku’s assassin was less challenging to deal with than expected. Learning that she was replaced by a Nightbrother, by Savage Opress’ little brother, the little brother of the Sith who killed Master Jinn—

A bit challenging.

“You know as well as I do that he had no choice, Master,” Maul says. He will plead his case and he will win. Dogma is his, now. He won’t let him go back to Tipoca City knowing what will happen to him if he does. Master Windu frowns. Maul will defend his choice as much as needed. He shouldn’t even have to. He doesn’t let his frustration show. “ _Dogma_ has proven to be an essential part of our crew and, most importantly, he showed he could adapt easily to all kinds of situations.” Maul narrows his eyes. “He should not be punished for doing what was right, Master.” 

“The GAR and the Kaminoans may beg to differ.”

“Let them come,” Maul says calmly. The Force hums around him. He is at peace with his choice. He knows he is right. “I will stand by my decision.”

Master Windu folds his hands into his sleeves. Maul waits. He releases his emotions in the Force.

“Alright,” Master Windu says. “The Council will stand by you.” Maul hides his relief. He knows he isn’t fooling anyone. He puts his hands behind his back and nods. He doesn’t react when Master Yoda appears besides him. The connection is more stable than Master Windu’s. Maul feels suspicion rise within him. _What is he doing this far in the Outer Rim?_

“Master,” he says, bowing respectfully, and Master Yoda returns the gesture. 

“Disturbing news, I bring,” he says. “Many losses in Duro, our troops suffered. Most of our fleet, we lost.” He taps his cane on the floor. “Breached, the blockade on Foreost has been. Our hold against the Techno Union, we lost.”

“The enemy always seems to be two steps ahead of us,” Master Windu says. Master Yoda hums in agreement. 

Maul does not react. Their last intelligence mission has been a total failure. Nute Gunray never met Tambor in the three weeks they tailed him and, apart from his excessive tastes in luxury, they have nothing against him. Then, the men encountered Feral Opress when Maul was not there and they died at the hands of a mon—

He releases his emotion through the Force. Now is not the time. 

“Have you considered a leak?” His Commander asks. Neither Masters can see nor hear him but the upper deck of _Scimitar_ is small enough for him to overhear the conversation without straining too much. Maul signs _Wait_ and Mesh’la falls silent.

“—and Feral Opress has been sighted on Takodana—”

“Let us go,” Maul says, cutting off Master Windu. “We are already in the Tashtor sector.”

“No.”

“Master—”

“No, Maul,” Master Windu says. “This is not up for discussion.”

He wants to argue. They’re probably closer than anyone else and he has contacts on Takodana. Perhaps Opress left enough of a mark to have caught the attention of Kanata. He knows the enemy, knows what to expect and how to fight against him. He knows Opress. He knows how he operates and this would not be their first encounter with him. He feels anger rising within him. Opress killed his men. Slaughtered them. Left Schutta to die. Maul should be the one to put him down. He _deserves_ to be the one to _put him down._ It is his _right._

He recoils at the thought and the Force around him ripples. It feels as cold as the ice on Ilum.

“Very well, Master,” he hears himself say, his mind still reeling.

Master Yoda taps his cane and starts walking. He hums and Maul lets the familiar sounds wash over him. He understands his emotions – anger, vengeance, resentment – and, shamefully, his vindictive blood lust. He acknowledges them, then proceeds to release them through the Force. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._

“A vision, I’ve had. On Takodana, Knight Maul I’ve seen.” He stills for a moment and frowns. “Clear, the Force was.” 

Master Windu looks at him, deep furrows in his brows. Maul waits.

“Fine,” Master Windu says. He looks back at him. Maul does not react. “You and your squad will go to Takodana. Report your findings to me or Master Yoda.”

_Do not contact anyone else_ , is what he understands. He would smile wryly if it could affect Master Windu. It would not.

Maul has only been contacted by them—no one else. He has not had direct contact with any of the Jedi Generals from the High Council and, apart from Vos, the ones he worked with did not know him before the war. He and his men know that the Senate is not aware of them. He has an inkling that the other members of the High Council do not know of their existence or, at least, that they do not know _he_ is their source.

It does not truly affect him. He thinks, considering everything, that it may be for the best. He is not sure he would know how to react if he saw Obi-Wan or Master Plo again.

“Yes, Master,” he says and bows. Master Windu cuts his end of the transmission. Master Yoda has yet to do the same.

“Heard of your newest soldier, I have,” he says. His tone is neutral but Maul can hear the amusement. “A bold choice, you made.”

“It was the will of the Force,” he answers calmly. He folds his hands into his sleeve and nods. “Dogma works well among us.”

“Pleased to hear this, I am.” He chuckles. “His regards, Commander Thire sends.”

Maul smiles. “Please send mine as well, Master.”

Master Yoda chuckles and nods. He bows and cuts down the transmission. Maul stares at the empty space he left for a moment. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ He feels a hand closing on his wrist and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. The hand does not leave his wrist. After a couple of breaths, he puts his other hand on top of it. He opens his eyes and looks at his Commander. He is met with hard eyes set on determination. He averts his gaze and looks towards the vast blue hues of hyperspace.

“Are we improving the Galaxy, Mesh’la?”

“I don’t know,” his Commander replies. He tilts his head on the side and Maul can see him in his peripheral vision. He is looking at him. “I’d like to think we are.”

“I need to meditate,” he whispers. He feels exhausted, suddenly. He sighs. Mesh’la releases his wrist. Maul does not analyse the emotions he feels coming from him.

“I’ll tell the men where we’re heading.” 

Maul nods and looks at him. His Commander snorts, then puts a hand on Maul’s forehorns and taps his forehead quickly with his own. Maul scratches his palm with a horn when he doesn’t take his hand away. It earns him a chuckle. Mesh’la shakes his head, grins and releases him, heading towards the lift.

“You do realize Thire has a _thing_ for you, right?” His Commander asks cheekily before stepping into the lift. He doesn’t bother waiting for an answer—not that he would receive one anyway.

Maul watches the tunnel of hyperspace for a moment and lets the Force flow through him. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ He takes off his robe and tunics, sits on the floor and empties his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a (mandoa.org)  
> \- Mesh'la: beautiful; which, in context, became Meisler through cultural assimilation and domestication  
> \- Eyayah: Echo  
> \- vod: brother, sister, comrade, mate (pl. vode)  
> \- Manda: the collective soul or heaven; in context, an interjection  
> \- Jetii: Jedi (pl. Jetiise)  
> \- vod'ika: in context, little brother ('ika being a diminutive suffix)  
> \- bal'ban: indeed, definitely - emphatic  
> "Schutta" is a Twi'leki insult. shout out to my boy atton
> 
> I'm still baffled by Adm Holdo's "Godspeed, rebels" but I think I grew fond of it


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! I forgot to ask something in the notes last time when I sneakily dumped 7K words of pure crack and ran away faster than a ninja.
> 
> Do New Mandalorians still speak Mando’a even though they'd obviously need to change a whole heckin lot about the vocab? It's just that imagining a young Korkie only learning Basic gives me the sads.

“Ladies, prepare for the drop,” Axe says.

Fives whoops and Jesse thumps on his chest plate. Echo keeps shifting from one foot to the other. He’s giggling. Rex snorts. They always get too excited before a HALO jump.

“Y’alright, Tup?” Fives asks and his voice resonates loud in their comms. The other brother nods and braces himself. Rex’s HUD indicates they are nearing the drop zone. _“Steady,”_ he says. He can feel them vibrating. One push and Echo’s going to explode for sure. It’s only because he’s a stickler for the rules that he hasn’t already bolted out, leading the other ARC to do the same. Fives is the loudest, always has been, so people tend to pay more attention to him than his batcher but Rex is no fool. He _knows._ He knows Echo is always, _always_ the one starting all of their bantha shit. “Steady, men,” he repeats for good measure.

HUD indicates altitude is 7,000 m. The _Bad Kitty_ ’s door opens. They’re good to go. Jesse is practically bouncing on his feet. Rex snorts and decides to stop the torture.

“Echo, Fives, you’re up,” Rex says. The two ARCs don’t even wait for him to finish; they rattle their gauntlets together in a practised motion then somersault. Kriffing idiots. He signs _Go_ and says, “Jesse, Tup, your turn.” 

Jesse puts a glove on Tup’s shoulder guard and signs _Together_. Tup nods shakily but they jump in unison. Rex braces himself. “Thanks for the ride, boys,” he says over his shoulder. Axe’s exhilarated laugh booms in his bucket. They bred them half manic, the pilots. He’s positive they’re all decanted before they can develop some kind of levelheadness.

“ _Oya_ , Captain!” Axe replies. Rex snorts, takes a deep breath and jumps.

It’s not that he doesn’t like HALO jumps. It’s not that he doesn’t understand the thrill of it. It’s just that he prefers to stay on the ground if he has a choice, thank you very much. He tries not to think about Geonosis. About this precise moment when he was flung around like a pitiful sack of Corellian potatoes and asked himself if this was his life now. _Now where’s the fun in that_ General Skywalker had said after letting him free-fall for what was sure a straight path to an untoward death for Rex. Hmm. Maybe he doesn’t like HALO jumps after all.

The terrain is not in their favor. It’s flat, so there’s that, but it’s completely barren—nothing but salt. At least, they’re going to stick out like a sore thumb when they land. The lack of vegetation isn’t strange, considering half of the planet’s rotation is spent in complete darkness. It’s odd life hasn’t seemed to find a way but maybe Rex is too high up to see whatever vegetation there is here yet.

When he touches the ground, he’s 5.8 km NE from the rendezvous point.

“Comm check,” he says.

“5.2 West,” Echo replies.

“6.4 West,” Fives replies.

“4.1 North-East,” Tup replies.

“Err—” Jesse says and Rex stops himself from swearing. “I don’t—Kark, wait. I can’t find—can’t find the celestial poles. Err—HUD’s rebooting, I’m droiding. Hang on, I—”

Jesse’s connection cuts short. Rex swears. “Jesse, come in.” Nothing. “Come in, trooper.” He’s met with silence. That’s not good. He turns on his holomap. Alright. Last ping was 226° and one point two kilometer away from his position. “I’ll go check. Proceed to the rendezvous point,” he says. A couple of _Yessirs_ resonate. He heads towards the last ping. There’s no sound except for his own breathing and the heavy thumps of his boots on the barren land. His HUD glitches from time to time; it’s not unusual but Rex grits his teeth. There’s not enough light and if he doesn’t have night vision he’ll be pretty much blind. When he’s close enough, he takes his scopes out, switches to infrared and looks around. There are a couple of heat signatures close by but they’re burrowed underground and small in size. Local fauna, he guesses. There’s a bigger signature forty-seven degrees from him. It’s immobile. He takes out his Deeces and approaches carefully. There’s nothing else nearby—or, at least, nothing he can see. He’s close enough to see it’s Jesse, the white of his plastoid armor unmistakable. He kneels on the ground and turns him over. He’s unconscious, his bucket abandoned next to him. A quick check shows it’s working. He looks over the trooper and there doesn’t seem to be—

Ah, _kriff._ There’s a gash on his shoulder, right where his shell doesn’t cover him. His blacks are wet with blood. They don’t have a choice; they’ve got no cover here since it’s mostly rocks and cracked earth and the rest of the squad will be waiting. He takes out his bacta spray and tries to clean up the wound as much as he can considering the low lighting and that he has no karking idea what caused this. He shakes Jesse a bit. The man groans.

“Wake up, trooper,” he growls. The response is immediate; Jesse opens his eyes and focuses on him.

“Sir?” he winces, “Wha— what happened?”

“You tell me,” he replies. Jesse frowns, blinks a couple of times. It’s slower than usual. Hmm. Rex takes one of his headlights and checks his pupillary response. “Report, trooper.”

Jesse squints, “I landed on a salt pan and my HUD started acting up. Couldn’t find North and the words were—” He shakes his head, “all weird—wasn’t Aurebesh and—” He blinks a couple of times then grimaces in frustration, “I don’t—I—I can’t—”

“Easy,” Rex shushes, “It’s alright. _Easy_.” He helps him sit up. Jesse doesn’t seem to have noticed the wound. Maybe it’s for the best. Rex tries not to imagine what Kix would say about that. “Can you get up?” Jesse nods. He supports his back and doesn’t falter when Jesse sways and blinks slowly. Kriff. It’s got to be a concussion. He turns on the holomap. The kriffing thing keeps acting up, so he taps his vambrace on his hip a couple of times. Jesse grunts. Smog starts forming and swirling around their feet.

“Alright, the rendezvous point is less than three klicks from our position. Can you stay up on your own?” Rex asks. Jesse nods. He slowly puts his arm away. Jesse doesn’t sway but it’s clear he won’t be able to walk without help. Rex takes the bucket left out of the smog, rattling the vegetation and making it lightly glow. He attaches Jesse’s bucket to his own armor, holsters one of his Deeces and puts a hand around Jesse’s middle. It’s not ideal but it’ll have to do. “Alright, trooper,” he says. “Let’s go.” The tendrils around them slowly come to life, small spots of glowing neon across the jungle.

He checks the map. Five kilometers to the rendezvous point. They can do it. They have to. Rex starts the trek and stays sharp. He can’t see much and his HUD keeps glitching. What kriffing good it did, swapping for Phase II, if all their gear keeps being made on the cheap. The bioluminescent spines shift with each of his steps. The more they walk, the more Jesse’s head starts to bobble. He’s putting more and more of his weight on Rex’s arm. Kark, this isn’t good. “Jesse,” he says when the other man almost trips. “Stay with me, trooper. Hey. Jesse, _hey._ ” He puts his other arm around him before he can fall. Rex’s bucket is pushed on the ground, landing close to one of those ginormous bioluminescent tentacles. Jesse’s grunting but he doesn’t even seem to realize his own armor is pushing on the wound. Not good, not good. Rex stops himself from cursing. He can carry him if he has to but it won’t do them any good if he can’t draw in this kriffing shadow jungle. He tries to stabilize Jesse on his legs as much as he can then puts all of the trooper’s weight on his shoulder, carrying him by blocking his legs with an arm, the upper half of his body draped over his back, leaving his other arm free in case he needs to draw his weapon. The position is putting pressure on Jesse’s wound; it’s definitely not ideal but Rex needs to have some range of mo—

Something _cracks_ behind them.

Rex turns back, Deece in hand and finger already on the trigger, ready to shoot.

A pair of glowing golden eyes stares back at him at eye-level. _Retroreflective,_ his mind provides uselessly. His own eyes are still adjusting to the darkness and he can see it’s a humanoid figure, cloaked, maybe a bit smaller in height but not much. _Predator. Danger,_ his mind whispers. Jesse moans, his head bobbing on Rex’s hip. _Danger._ He tightens his hold on him. He feels blood pumping in his ears. The tiny plant tendrils around him glow in menacing neon colors.

There are no settlements on this side of the planet. There’s nothing besides the base. 

The cloaked figure takes a step forward but stops when Rex moves his gun to adjust the new distance. His heart beats so loudly he can feel it in his own throat. He sees them slowly raising their hands forward, over their head and pulling the hood down.

The only light is the one provided by the stars and is reflected on the white, barren salt pan but Rex sees glowing golden eyes adorning a red-skinned face with black markings and sharp horns and takes in a sharp breath.

“I am Maul,” the Zabrak says and Rex can feel his heart hammering in his chest. His voice is even, calm and nothing like the vicious sneer he’s imagined. He sees the smog swirling around the other’s legs. “I wish you no harm.”

He realizes belatedly that he’s still clenching his Deece hard and is still pointing at the Jedi. _Danger, danger,_ his mind whispers. Small plants in the jungle flash neon light in rhythmic patterns. He slowly lowers it down but his finger rests close to the trigger. He swallows. His mouth is dry, like he’s been yelling a lot except he hasn’t. _Threat._ The Zabrak takes another step forward and without thinking Rex’s hold on Jesse tightens and he raises his gun again. All Rex can sense is the _danger_ looming, the sheer raw power of the Zabrak in front of them and suddenly all of his good sense flies out and he only sees _threat_. There’s something at the back of his head, telling him to put his weapon down but all of his senses are on high alert ever since the other started closing in on them. Jesse is not in any condition to fight and he’s hanging over Rex’s shoulder, effectively blocking a large part of his range of motion. He needs to protect him. He needs to protect him. His throat feels sore.

Something flickers across the other’s face but it’s quickly replaced by neutrality and it’s too dark for Rex to truly see. _Threat,_ his mind whispers. _Danger._ He raises his Deece to the other’s head.

Slowly, Maul takes his lightsaber out, puts it on the floor and rolls it over Rex's feet. Rex follows his head with his Deece. He takes a cursory glance at the other’s weapon at his feet. The design is odd; it's much longer than the ones he’s used to. He’s only seen lightsaber hilts this long on Umb—

“Sir,” a voice crackles from the other’s comlink. “Have you found them, yet?”

Maul slowly puts a finger on his left vambrace to open his end. His arms are covered by armor and leather.

“Yes, Commander,” the Zabrak says carefully. His voice is a soft, even rumble. It’s soothing. _Threat._ “One of them is injured but we’re not far from _Scimitar_.”

Rex’s breath hitches. All of a sudden, he realizes what he’s doing— _aiming your Deece at a_ Jetii, _what are you thinking?_ —puts his gun down and holsters it. Maul doesn’t wait to advance on them and take a look at Jesse. When he puts his hand on the man’s face, Jesse groans but puts his cheek against it.

“Hmm. Warm,” he mumbles behind Rex’s back and he sees a slow smile spreading across the Zabrak’s features when he comes back in his field of vision. His markings start around his horns and keep going down. Rex blinks. He feels exhausted, hungry and thirsty and like his mind is clear again after a night of heavy drinking.

“Hello,” Maul says. “Our ship is not far and has a medbay.” He opens the palm not occupied by Jesse and his lightsaber flies right back to it. Rex stiffens. _Danger,_ his mind whispers. _He’s a threat to you and yours._ The plants around him flashes bioluminescent light patterns in the fog. The Jedi looks at him and tilts his head to the side. Why is his heart still hammering? He wants to draw his weapon, his fingers itches with the need to take it. He takes his bucket off the ground to pull himself together. _He’s a Jedi. He’s no threat. He’s a Jedi._ He adjusts Jesse’s weight on his shoulder and takes a sharp step back when the Zabrak makes a move to take him away from Rex. _Threat._ He lets his bucket fall on the ground and puts his hand on his Deece, still holstered. He hears his blood pumping in his ears. Maul takes one look at his bucket and his eyes widen. He slowly stares back at him. They stare at each other for a while until Maul raises a hand and Rex’s breath catches in his throat. He thinks—He— _You are not in danger_ . He’s— _It’s alright. No need to panic_ . Why was he— _It’s alright. You are not in danger._ He wants to bare his teeth, to attack. _You are not in danger,_ his mind whispers. He feels alarmed; that’s not— _you are not in danger._ Maul looks at him, hands raised in a universal sign of surrender. Rex bares his teeth. He takes his gun and aims.

It’s too late when he sees a brother with a DC-15A aiming back at him and he feels the painful hit of a low-powered stun. He moves so Jesse will fall on him and braces for the impact but doesn’t feel any before he blacks out.

*

“Maul,” Kanata walks over him. “I have been waiting!”

He smiles and puts a knee down. She embraces him and pats one of his horns in jest. He laughs warmly. She doesn’t hesitate to take one of his hands and to lead him wherever she wants him to be. 

Some things never change.

They sit on the carpeted ground under an open alcove. She adjusts her goggles and takes his face between her hands. She moves him this way and that to examine him. He lets her, privately amused. She has done it every single time he has come here, even after he stopped growing.

“Look how grown you are,” she says anyway. Satisfied, she sits back on her ottoman. Maul snorts. He feels at peace. He hasn’t felt this calm in a long time. Ever since he set foot in her castle, he has felt closer to the Force, which isn’t an easy feat to accomplish these days. The Force is clouded, most of the time, and he has trouble knowing if what he does is right. His life before the war has been simpler; follow the Force, let it guide him. Now, he’s not always certain the Force is the one to guide him, if he truly follows its path. Kanata makes a gesture towards one of the protocol droids and smiles. “Will your soldiers join us, my dear?”

She’s as sharp as ever, he thinks. Mesh’la and Dogma are dressed as Mandalorian bounty hunters and they faded in easily into the crowd. They’ve been here for a standard hour. He only arrived a couple of minutes ago. He sighs and turns on his comlink. “She knows,” he only has to say and he can feel his Commander’s affront rising on the surface.

The man arrives not even half a minute later, sits close enough to him that he can feel his bracer clashing with his own and snarls, _“_ _How?”_

Kanata only chuckles despite the brute display. Dogma arrives a bit after. He sits on Maul’s other side but leaves a bit of space between them. One of Kanata’s droids brings them each a cup. Another brings a steaming pot of tea. She smiles at his Commander. “You, my friend, are a Mandolarian or at least make a convincing one. This one, however,” she points at Dogma and he stiffens, “this one is too uncomfortable in his own skin surrounded by this kind of crowd.”

“He could just be fresh,” Mesh’la argues. Kanata shakes her head.

“Too sharp for that.” She adjusts her goggles and examines Dogma. He tries not to fidget and they all know it. “Yes. This one’s been raised as a soldier. Tell me, my dear,” she turns to Maul and Dogma visibly relaxes. Maul stops himself from reaching out, from telling him they knew they wouldn’t get the upper hand for long with Kanata. He waits for when they will be safe within the confines of _Scimitar_ lest he puts Dogma in a deeper state of anxiety. He sends him feelings of peace and serenity through the Force. “You are far away from the battlefields. Why would you bring soldiers from that Republic of yours here?”

He stiffens. He can feel Mesh’la slowly getting ready to pounce. He starts serving them tea and takes a sip of his own cup. Perfect, as always. “Maz,” he says and stares at her. “You know as well as I do that I wouldn’t—”

She takes his cup away and puts his hands between hers. “I know you aren’t a General, my dear. Your Master didn’t raise you so far away for you to follow your kind blindly,” she says dismissively. Somehow, the words make him tense. She always says this, _your kind_ , and Maul never knows if he likes it or not. Especially when she uses it as such. “I have never seen one of you before,” she says to his Commander.

Mesh’la bumps him in a gesture that seems absentminded while he takes off his helmet. Maul isn’t fooled but he doesn’t react. His Commander leans towards Maz and smiles. “Well,” he says and his whole face lights up with mischief. Maul wants to sigh. He _knows_ this face. It’s the one he uses every time he spouts one of his lines. He also knows why his Commander swiftly redirects all the attention on him. Maul is quietly grateful for that. “You’re in luck because you’re seeing the prettiest one first.” He winks. 

Maz laughs openly and Maul sighs. She ignores him and stares at his Commander. Her goggled eyes blink. Mesh’la grins. It’s the one he uses on a mark when he wants something. “My,” she says, and he’s not sure what to make of her tone. “Jango never looked at me like that.”

Oh, Maul knows where this is going. “Ah, well, lady,” his Commander drawls, “this is one hundred per cent me. I know what I want and I know how to get it, you see. And I always, _always_ , get what I want,” he rumbles, letting his voice go deep and wets his lips. Dogma fidgets and fails to cover it. The _vod_ must be deep red. He has yet to become impervious to the Commander’s shenanigans. It amuses the latter to no end, to the point that he’s been even more daring every time the former is nearby.

“Mesh’la,” Maul groans with as much dignity as he can muster. “ _Behave._ ”

The man takes one last look at Kanata with all the intent he can put into it and then bites his lower lip. Dogma takes in a sharp breath. Maul puts a hand over his face and, thankfully but surprisingly, his Commander listens to him and sits back. Thank the Force for small mercies.

The first time Maul saw Maz Kanata he was twelve and full of anxieties, convinced he would never become strong enough to pass the Trials. She took one look at him and, ever since that day, has decided that he will always have a place here. Maz has been nothing but a good friend. Her castle, despite how little time he actually spent in it, has become a soothing place for Maul. During his Padawanship, he and his Master travelled throughout the Galaxy, simply guided by the Force and many times they were led in this very castle. Maul always remembers each of these times fondly.

They are not here to reminisce about the past, however.

“Someone came here, on this planet, two weeks ago,” Maul says while Dogma takes off his helmet. He is still a bit red around the ears. It takes great effort not to bump him with one of his horns. He is getting distracted. “Perhaps you’ve seen him. He’s—“ he hesitates and he hates that he does because he knows they all hear it, “a Nightbrother.”

Maz stares at him and Maul stays still. 

“Feral Opress,” she says gravely. “Brother of Savage Opress.”

He nods. He shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always had a knack for knowing the most dangerous people in the galaxy. He doesn’t let any emotion cross his face. He knows it is a tell but it is better than anything else. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ His breaths are even and his heartbeats drum a calm rhythm. He feels Mesh’la lean a bit more of his weight against him in a subtle way, and sees Dogma take a sip of the tea. The _vod_ tries very hard not to grimace and puts the cup back on the small table between them. No one remarks on it. Maul has yet to find tea that would suit his taste buds but he’s not ready to claim defeat yet. He found tea for each of his men and he will for Dogma as well.

“He didn’t come in here,” Maz cuts in through his thoughts, “but he left quite the impression in Tondatha—one of the spaceports nearby. Killed two guards and took a ship.” She takes a sip of her tea, deep in thought.

“Maul,” she says in a tone that makes his hearts beat faster. “Do not follow this path, my dear.”

“Why?” he asks and he can hear how rough and uncertain he sounds. Mesh’la puts a hand behind his back. Maz does not comment on it but she looks at him with sorrow in her eyes. Maul is no fool. He knows her word is not to be taken lightly.

“You will lose yourself and those around you if you do.” He drops his chin in defeat and closes his eyes.

“My mission—”

“Forget about your mission,” she says sharply. “What does the Force tell you?”

Not to go down that path, is what the Force tells him. He has felt unbalanced ever since they decided to go to Takodana. The Force feels—distant, has for a while. The last time it has felt like this, he and Master Jon were two parsecs away from Tatooine and Master Jinn had died by the hands of a Sith. He sighs and puts a hand on his face, mindful of his horns. She is right, he _knows_ but—

One of her droids approaches them and tells her something too low for them to hear. Maz’s eyes widen and she puts her tea down.

“I do not think the Force led you here to go after him. However,” she shifts on her ottoman. “I may have important information that could warrant your presence here.”

Dogma straightens. “What kind of information? Ma’am,” he adds sheepishly. Maz shakes her head and taps a hand on his knee.

“I have been hosting someone for the past week,” she says looking somewhere behind them. “She’s been quiet but this isn’t what makes me curious. I’m intrigued because ever since she arrived, she’s been staying in her room and said nothing,” She gestures at the droid. “yet Emmie just told me she’s been asking about you since you arrived here.”

Maul tilts his head. The Force does not stir and Maz does not lie. 

“Him?” Mesh’la says pointing at Maul skeptically. Maz nods.

“Do I know her?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” she replies. “But you share a mutual acquaintance.” Maul frowns. Maz looks at him intently. “She was brought here by Antilles.”

“Master Jon?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. It is the first time he has tangible proof his Master has not died on Queyta. He knows, or at least, he supposes he would have felt the bond between them getting severed but knowing, _truly_ knowing, fills him with relief more than anything else could. After all, their bond has drastically diminished since Maul was knighted and he has an inkling his Master is probably the source of this. 

Attachment has… always been his own trial as a Jedi. They are to love unconditionally and Maul loves _deeply_ with all his hearts. He does not feel jealousy, never has. Fear of loss, however—

_You need to let me go_ , Mesh’la told him, when they took Dogma in, and all of what happened on Er’Kit finally caught up with them. They were, with Stat and the 501st ARC, the only ones who came back all in one piece. Schutta had stayed in the tank for _days_ and Kivan—

_When the time comes_ , Mesh’la told him, _let me go_. There wasn’t any hesitation in his words; it wasn’t a matter of _if_ but _when_ and Maul wanted to reply, to say he might very well die before his Commander but he stared at him, saw his eyes, felt the deep, breaking waves of his loyalty, resignation and protectiveness, and he could not speak. Mesh’la felt like an ocean to Maul—a force of nature, wild and striving for freedom, untouchable and mesmerizing. Never had he thought about bottling him, keeping him all to himself and _possessing_ him. He’s no stranger to his baser instincts, to lust and want–he has been a teenager travelling to the most unsavory parts of the Outer Rim–but he’s never felt them for his Commander. 

Maul loves him, with all his hearts, that much is certain, but it is closer to the love he has for his Master or for the one he’s had, a long time ago, for Obi-Wan; it is far from the innocent yet untoward feelings he has felt for Vos when he was younger and Quinlan represented a kind of freedom he craved, far from the feelings that bloomed whenever he would see Depa or Kit laugh in the Temple or get a glimpse of Luminara glancing back at him in the library. His Commander is, for lack of a better word, his family—or, at least, as much as a Jedi can have, which is to say none. As much as he cannot have romantic attachments, Maul should not have familial ones either.

And yet.

For Maul, Mesh’la is, indubitably, _his_ Commander.

He makes for a poor Jedi, he thinks wryly. What would Obi-Wan see if he looked at him?

This is another issue with him. Comparing himself to other Jedi is not something he ought to do and yet he cannot seem to stop with Obi-Wan. He has arguably created a shrine dedicated to him in his mind; Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator, defeater of the Sith, the quintessential Jedi Maul thrives to be. He knows this is an idealised version of a man he has not seen since they were both younglings and, sometimes, he hopes he will never meet him again because he is not sure how he would cope if Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the perfect Jedi he has imagined him to be.

A poor Jedi, indeed.

_Let me go. Promise me, Maul_ , his Commander said and they both knew what it truly meant. And Maul—

He loves him too much, too deeply to Fall. He will never disrespect his Commander as such. It took him a long time, much more than he would like to admit, but he folded his hands into his sleeves, bowed respectfully and pledged, with assurance and honor in his voice, _I will_.

Maz hums, slowly pushing him back to the conversation at hand. No doubt she felt his mind wandering.

“Yes. He told me he saw you’d be coming here.” 

Master Jon has always adhered to the Living Force, letting himself entirely guided by it, relying on his instincts. He’s still not entirely sure why his Master decided to take him as a Padawan considering he had always refused to take one before. It is no secret Master Jinn had still arguably played by the rules, whereas Master Jon had not. Both unorthodox and outsiders, he thinks, and it amuses him sometimes to realise that, obviously, Master Jon had to take the most unorthodox Padawan. For him to rely on a vision of a potential future so strongly was odd, to say the least. He’s always rather focused on the here and now, and taught Maul to do as such.

Maz winces. “He left right after,” she says apologetically.

He rolls his eyes. Of course he did. Maul tries not to be disappointed. And they call _him_ feral. He sighs then says, “Take me to her. Alone.”

“Sir—”

“Someone needs to go check out the spaceport, Mesh’la,” he says. His Commander bristles.

“Schutta and Stat can go. They’re getting restless in the ship, anyway,” he grumbles, takes out his comlink and contacts _Scimitar_. “Are you dead yet?” he asks and the stubbornness in his eyes makes Maul sigh.

“Hang on, I can’t find my comlink,” Schutta replies. Mesh’la says _OK_ and Maul smiles wryly. Dogma shifts in his seat and tries not to say anything. It’s a losing battle. His Commander seems completely unfazed and waits patiently for their Sergeant. Maul counts the seconds. When Mesh’la finally realises he’s been played, he goes red. “Listen here, you little—”

“Not dead yet,” Stat cuts in and, judging by the tone, he’s close to losing it. They all knew it was a possibility; Schutta has been restless these last few days and he has a knack to get on his _vode_ ’s nerves most of the time—but especially when he is in one of these moods. His Commander would not let Maul go to the castle on his own and leaving Dogma with Schutta and Stat was absolutely out of the question. The only one who survives staying with these two for longer than an hour is Maul and they all know it. “Fair warning though: I _will_ kill him if I stay inside with him any longer.” Mesh’la looks at Maul with a pointed eyebrow. 

“Dogma, _gaa'tayl_ ,” Schutta moans. “He’s mean to me, Dogma,” he says with all the despair in the galaxy he can find. The aforementioned _vod_ shifts, itching to reply. Maul stops himself from sighing. They take too much advantage of him. Sooner rather than later, he is going to have to _intervene_.

“Oh and Commander Thire called. _Again,”_ Stat says and he thinks he can hear him gritting his teeth. Maul tilts his head, confused, and asks, “What do you mean ag—”

“Nothing,” his Commander cuts in sharply. “He means nothing and let’s not deviate from baseline, here.” His eyes narrow. “You’re not going there alone.” 

“Isn’t _Scimitar_ a bit too cramped up for so many people?” Maz asks diplomatically.

“Yes,” Maul and Dogma reply simultaneously to Mesh’la’s “No.” He brushes a gauntlet soothingly to alleviate the hurt he feels from his Commander and bumps a horn on his shoulder guard, knowing it will amuse the other man. He can feel fondness slowly gaining ground on his Commander’s unreletent stubbornness and it takes some effort not to smirk in victory.

“I could come with you,” Dogma says innocently but knowing fully well Maul won’t deny him, “while the Commander goes with them.”

Oh that clever, clever man. They’ve already won the argument and Maul is nothing but a fair loser. He sighs. Satisfied and a tad preening, Mesh’la rises, puts a friendly hand on Dogma’s shoulder and walks away. “Very well,” Maul says calmly. “Maz, would you take _us_ to her, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a (mandoa.org)  
> \- Oya!: exclamation, always positive and triumphant (Let's hunt!)  
> \- gaa'tayl: help
> 
> Today’s suggested readings are brought to you by Jon Antilles, Winner of the Hide-and-Seek Galactic Championship:  
> -Attachment for Dummies (not written) by Maul and (not co-written by) Anakin Skywalker.pdf  
> -Stop Yeeting Me: The Tragic (Five-Story) Fall of Captain Rex.epub  
> -[NSFW] i know what you did last summer, commander thire by MeislerA28.mobi  
> \- posted by u/SgtShooter4816 - AITA for picking on my brothers if there’s nothing else to do? : AmItheAsshole - reddit.com.html


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as he wakes up, Rex feels he is laid down on the ground. He jerks awake, draws one of his Deeces in a swift motion on the unknown target and blinks.

The Jedi’s hands are already raised. His face is impassive. There’s a brother behind him carrying Jesse; he has the unmistakable red sigil of a clone medic on his shoulder guard.

“Knight Maul” Rex says, unbalanced, and puts his blaster back in his holster. He coughs. His throat feels sore. Maul stares at him and extends a hand towards him. He takes it and lets himself be pulled up. Before he can apologize, the Jedi shakes his head.

“The ship is just here,” he says pointing at nothing but thin air. Rex raises an eyebrow. Maul pulls him towards where the ship supposedly is. “Let’s talk inside.” He shrugs but follows after taking a quick glance at Jesse. He’s unconscious. The medic took greater care of his wound than Rex did.

The ship Maul takes them to has a cloaking device even more impressive than the IPV-2C General Skywalker used on Christophsis. One moment they’re walking toward nothing and all of sudden there’s an airlock entrance opening out of nowhere. Maul steps through and Rex follows him through a corridor that leads them to some sort of makeshift medbay that is admirable considering the bay was definitely _not_ designed for that. It’s when the brother carrying Jesse joins them that Rex notices he’s still holding the Jedi’s hand. He takes the opportunity to let go by helping the medic lay Jesse down on what is probably the operating table and steps back when he realizes he’s in the way. His heart is hammering in his chest and he is sure the tips of his ears are red. How the kriff did he not notice before? He’s not sure what he’s most embarrassed about—not noticing or the fact that Maul was kind enough not to point it out. The brother looks him up and down, assessing, and nods in satisfaction.

“Tell me what happened,” he asks, keeping his eyes on him but pointing at Jesse.

“Not sure,” Rex says and he lets go of his previous thoughts. “He wasn’t making any sense.”

The medic narrows his eyes. “What did he say exactly?”

Rex feels another set of eyes on him. He intentionally doesn’t turn back. “His HUD malfunctioned. Couldn’t find the celestial poles.” The medic looks at Jesse. He continues, “said he couldn’t read what was written.”

“Were those his exact words?” The brother asks and Rex frowns in thought. 

“He said he couldn’t read because it wasn’t written in Aurebesh. Why?”

“What happened after that?”

“We walked to the rendezvous point and joined you there,” he says. 

The medic stares at him. Rex blinks. He’s being cooperative—Kix has trained him too much to respond to the voice medics use when they mean business to be anything but. Why the kriff is he looking at him like he’s being a pain in the _shebs?_

He hears someone say _nu’tome'tayl_ to the medic. He turns back. He's shocked when he sees it’s Maul. What does he mean, no memories? Before he can say anything, they hear sharp movements on the upper deck and voices raising. Rex stiffens. He’s pretty sure Tup is the one shouting. Maul walks out of the medbay and he follows him without thinking. They take the lift and when the doors open Rex already feels a headache coming judging by the scene before his eyes.

“I thought you were _dead_ , you piece of bantha shit!” Tup screams. 

He is on one side, yelling at the top of his lungs, a huge gash on his left eyebrow bleeding profusely, bracketeered by Echo and Fives and Dogma is on the other side, trying to stop his nose from bleeding. The Commander is trying to push Dogma’s hands to assess the damage but quickly has to block another brother with his bucket on from going back after Tup, yelling back at the latter with all the creative insults he can think of.

“Get karked, you Sith-spawn waste of good genes!” the brother shouts vigorously. “You can go suck Grievous you filthy empty bucket droid-kriffer _chakaar!”_

Tup tries to get away from the ARCs and yells back, “I’m not talking to you!” which pushes the brother into another flurry of insults.

“Kark you! Kriffing touch my _vod_ one more time, you defect son of a cloning vat, and I’ll karking make you eat my gauntlet again,” he barks, struggling against the Commander’s hold. “Just try again you kriffing poodoo and I swear on Jango’s bones even the long-necks won’t recognize your fugly mug!” he throws his bucket viciously back, trying to give the Commander a Keldabe kiss and yells, “Karking let me _go_ , Mesh’la you no good _sleemo—_ ”

Rex puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles as loud as he can. Every single one of them freezes. All heads turn towards him. The silence is deafening.

“Ten-hut!” He shouts and all of his men automatically obey. The Commander and the unidentified brother are the only ones who don’t. He sees Maul is already talking to Dogma and the brother blinks at him, still standing to attention, as if he forgot his nose was bleeding in the first place. Maul touches his face gingerly and winces. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go see Stat.”

“I— _alo_ —” 

“Please, Dogma,” Maul says. “For me.”

It seems to work because the brother deflates and nods. The Jedi walks him to the lift without looking at anyone else. Rex looks at his men. Tup’s bucket is off and he is seething, he can see that, but he hasn’t broken formation. Echo and Fives are more subtle but he can see how rattled they are. “At ease,” he finally says and Tup stares at the ground. He is shaking.

The unidentified brother starts moving again but before he can do anything the Commander puts him in a headlock and sneers _Gev, verd._ The brother growls in frustration but relents. Rex looks at his men and sighs heavily. Jesse’s in the medbay, they have a mission, they have _orders_ and he does not want to deal with— Whatever this is. _Oh come on, you know what the heck this is._ Yeah, well, kark you mental Cody. Of course he karking knows.

A voice resonates throughout the ship’s comm system, “I don’t care what happened or who started what,” a brother says tiredly. Definitely the medic’s –Stat’s?– voice, judging by the accent. “But you are all going to stop it because I don’t really have the space for another one of you stupid moof-milkers. Another brawl like this and I will shoot the Sarge _on sight_ , is that clear?”

Rex hears _Yessirs_ and is surprised to see that the only ones who don’t respond are the unidentified brother and himself. The brother sputters but is cut short by the medic’s saying “Do not give me a reason to stun you, Sergeant.” Fives’ bucket turns to Echo sharply at that. “Send me the other one.”

The atmosphere is too tense. Rex counts to ten. He looks at his men, at the state of their armors and plans. “Tup, medbay. Now,” he says and the trooper salutes and leaves. “Echo,” he mutters and signs _Cover this area_. The ARC smoothly inserts himself in the lift before the door closes. Attaboy. “Fives, report.” He can see the eyes of the Commander on him. He doesn’t budge.

“I was the only one besides the Sarge at RV. I went with the Commander looking for Echo and Tup while Knight Maul and Corporal Stat went looking for you and Jesse. Took them four hours to find you since you weren’t responding.”

“Hang on,” Rex says. “ _Four_ hours?”

Fives nods. “Yes,” he says. “Your comm went off as soon as we landed.” He pauses. “Captain,” he says slowly, “how long did you think you were out there?”

“One hour tops,” he answers honestly. It can’t be. It took him maybe twenty minutes to find Jesse and they’ve been walking for half an hour before Maul found them. Maybe even less. Fives shares a look with the Commander. Something is wrong.

“Did you pass the villages?” The Commander asks. Rex frowns.

“There’re no settlements on this side of the planet.”

“There are ruins, though,” Fives says. “All around the big temple.”

What? It doesn’t make any sense. All he saw was salt. Kilometers and kilometers of salt—no ruins or temple. The whole land was completely barren and flat; he wouldn’t have missed them. It was nothing but salt. They all saw it from the Laatie. There was nothing around him.

“Do you remember,” Fives asks and Rex can hear the hesitance seeping through his vocoder, “what happened when you met Maul and the Corporal?”

Rex frowns. Of course he remem—

Of course he—

  
  


He— 

His heart starts beating frantically. There’s white noise in his ears. He doesn’t remember. _Rex doesn’t remember_. “Was there a jungle,” he hears himself asking through the blood pumping in his ears, “did you see a jungle when you jumped?” There was a jungle, right? There were all those weird-looking glowing plants and the tentacles and the fog, he saw—or was it only salt? No, no, it was just salt. He can’t—

“I didn’t jump,” Fives replies and Rex feels tremors coming from his hands. “Mack landed the _Service with a Smile_ on a clearing. You jumped because Jesse fell off.” Mack? From the Coruscant Guard? “Echo says—” Rex’s ears keep ringing. “Matchstick was our pilot and we landed near a village.”

“I—” He clenches his fists, takes deep breaths and wills his heart to calm down. _In and out. In and out._ It takes him a couple of seconds but he manages. “We were in the _Bad Kitty_ with Axe and we HALO jumped.” It’s when he says it that he knows this can’t be right. Axe died two years ago over Ryloth; he never piloted the _Bad Kitty_ and that ship crashed on Point Rain. There’s no way Monnk would let Coruscant Guard pilot the _Service with a Smile_ and Mack died two years ago on Florrum, if he remembers well. Matchstick died when Shadow Squadron engaged the _Malevolence._ Axe died the same year.

But Rex distinctly remembers Axe telling him _Oya, Captain!_ before he jumped. Just like he distinctly remembers talking to his squad after landing.

“We’re all losing our karking minds, we get it!” The Sergeant roars. He gets out of the Commander’s headlock and throws his bucket on the floor in frustration. Rex’s hands automatically go to one of his Deeces. He sees Fives do the same.

“Schutta,” the Commander growls, clutching one of his vambraces. The man pushes him away. The Commander doesn’t budge. “ _Vod_. Why are you still angry?”

The Sergeant pushes him back, seething. “Go kark yourself, _Mesh’la_ ,” he sneers. “That kriffer punched _Vod’ika_ so I’m allowed to be angry!”

“That _kriffer_ ,” the Commander says through gritted teeth, keeping a tight grip on the other man, “is _Tup._ His _batchmate_. The one _Vod’ika_ specifically said may react badly.” 

The Sergeant stills. “Oh,” he says and the Commander releases him slowly. “Er—okay. Sorry for the _kov'nyn_ , I guess.” He pointedly looks away. “When that kid punched Dogma, I just saw red.” He throws a glance at Fives and Rex, sucks his teeth and crosses his arms. If he notices how furious they are, he doesn’t comment on it. 

“What about Tup? What does he remember?” Rex hears himself asking, eyes going back on Fives. 

“He said Slammer piloted the _Lucky Lekku_ and we all HALO jumped over pastureland,” Fives replies and Rex can hear him frowning. Slammer died over Ryloth. Kriff. He doesn’t like this repeated pattern. “I was the only one to RV when the Sarge was waiting for us there. I went looking for Echo and Tup with the Commander and when we arrived you were already in the ship.” He shifts. “Dogma and the Sarge arrived after us,” he says quietly.

He hears the doors of the lift open. All of them turn towards it. Maul steps out and Rex’s breath hitches.

He is everything and nothing like he imagined him to be. He didn’t take a good look before but, now that he can, he stares at him and he feels strangely intimidated. He hasn’t felt like this for a while. Last time must’ve been when he was a CT cadet going for the first time training with the CCs. Alpha-17 had decided he’d make an ARC out of the mutie clone who got the jump on him just to prove he could. Rex did not disappoint.

Maul’s smaller than they all are, not by much but enough for it to be undeniable, but he feels much, much bigger than all of them. He feels like a Jedi. His presence is overwhelming; it exudes tranquility, much like General Koon’s, but there’s also a sharp edge to it, something imposing and stalking like Rex has seen coming from High General Windu or his own General before a battle. He wants to make comparisons, see what he can find that would be similar to General Kenobi or General Secura, but Maul walks towards them and suddenly all thoughts escape him. His movements are fluid and graceful; they speak of quiet restraint and control, nothing like the brute strength he’d imagined. Definitely a Jedi. Rex catches a glimpse of white in one of his gloved hands and realizes it’s a helmet. 

Wait a minute. That’s _his_ helmet.

He checks out the one he has attached to his armor and sees it has a cog painted on it. Eh. It’s Jesse’s. Since when did he forget about his own bucket? The Jedi approaches him and hands him his helmet with a small smile. “My apologies. I forgot to give it back,” Maul whispers, staring at it like he’s never seen one before. Rex just takes his bucket and nods his thanks mutely. The Jedi turns to Schutta and sighs. “You are barred from the medbay.” When the brother starts protesting, Maul shakes his head, “Stat’s orders.” The former deflates.

“Tell me, Captain,” the Jedi says in a low, soft tone and Rex realizes his Coruscanti accent is as sharp as General Kenobi’s, “do you remember what you said to me when we found you?”

“I—” he stops. He has no idea. He doesn’t even remember meeting him. Maul looks at him and when their eyes meet he feels like all the air is sucked out of the ship. His heart hammers in his chest. Maul’s eyes are gold and there are flecks of green in them. Rex has never seen retroreflective eyes this close before. He’d admit to himself it’s a bit mesmerising.

“You told me,” the Jedi says slowly, “you would not let your men be shot again.”

“N—” _No_ , he wants to say. _No, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t_ — his throat constricts. His heart beats loud in his chest. _In and out. In and out. Breathe, vod_. He only vaguely remembers sensing danger and—

“Did I—” he stops, staring at the Jedi with horror. Oh _kriff_. “I shot at you,” he blurts.

“You _what_ ,” the Sergeant sneers. Maul puts a hand on his chest before he can advance on Rex. The brother backs off almost immediately but he still looks at him with murder in his eyes. The Commander mutters _long story_ but doesn’t react apart from this.

“You weren’t yourself,” the Jedi says and there’s no accusation in it. His mouth twists. “Your mind felt clouded. I couldn’t reach you.”

Rex doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or yell. None of this makes sense. He has no idea how he arrived on Eredenn Prime, he can’t tell if it was only salt or if there was a jungle outside and he almost _shot a Jedi._ His mind is reeling. He wants to put on his bucket and yell until he can’t anymore. Maul looks at him, his eyes wandering on his face and Rex feels naked. He swallows.

“I’m not reading your thoughts,” the Jedi whispers absentmindedly and Rex tenses. He didn’t think about that but now he does. Instinctively, he raises his mental shields. Maul doesn’t seem to react. “I’m merely trying to understand,” he whispers.

“Understand what,” he asks, voice rough. Maul doesn’t reply. He’s very, very close. It takes a lot out of Rex not to fidget. Fives does. The Sergeant looks at Maul like he’s considering putting himself between him and Rex.

“I think,” the Commander says slowly, “we need to talk about how we all arrived here because none of us can exactly remember how we landed on planet.” He sighs and puts a hand on his face. “My men all agree on _Scimitar_ but that’s pretty much the only thing. Personally, I can’t remember anything after our briefing. Nothing clearly, anyway.”

“Same for me, I think,” Rex admits. Maul is still staring at him. He doesn’t dare avert his eyes. What is it with kriffing _Jetiise_ being weird all the time? “I remember talking with General Skywalker but after that I don't know what happened before we were in the _Bad Kitty_.” It didn’t occur to him earlier that he had a huge time gap. That’s not good. “What about you, Fives?” He sees the ARC startle in the corner of his eye. Maul blinks and abruptly steps back, as if becoming aware of how close he was. Rex feels his body relaxing. He didn’t notice how tense he was. The Commander and the Sergeant look at the Jedi with confusion in their eyes.

“Er—After the meeting, me’n Echo packed up our gear and we went to, uh, to the small arms range and we— _”_ he looks at the other men and stops abruptly. Maul tilts his head. “You…?” he prompts. Fives fidgets.

“We _practiced,_ ” he blurts out and nods vividly, voice going high and lying through his teeth. Rex narrows his eyes. None of his men knows how to lie and it’s probably because he himself can’t lie for shit. Fives shifts his weight on his other foot and stiffens. “Ran through sims for, uh, target practice.”

Rex grits his teeth. “Fives—”

“Practised in _small arms_?” The Commander cuts in. He raises an eyebrow. “Cleaned your Deeces well, didn’t you?” he asks, voice rough. Rex frowns but when he sees Fives shifts, it hits him. Ah, _kriff._ Karking Idiots. He tenses when the Commander opens his mouth again.

“Nothing else after that?” Rex cuts in. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to salvage this shipwreck. His ARC shakes his head and he thinks he can feel the relief seeping out of Fives. He wants to smack the stupid out of him but he also knows they’re trading dangerous waters. He’ll protect his men. No matter what. His fist clenches. Maul throws him an intrigued glance and— Rex starts sweating. His heart starts beating faster in his chest. Kriff. What the kark is wrong with that thing? _Would you look at that—it’s alive, old boy!_

“I’d say it took us one hour to find the Captain and come back,” Maul says, completely unaware of Rex’s mild internal crisis. “Yet Stat says it took us two.” 

“You were gone for four hours,” the Commander says. 

Maul looks surprised. His eyes widen and he blinks a couple of times. Rex stiffens. He sees him fold his hands into his sleeves and wills his heart to _calm the kark down_. The motion reassures him, though. Makes him think of General Kenobi and High General Windu. Maybe it’s a _Jetii_ thing. As soon as you put a robe on them, they all do that thing. Maul sighs. “The Force is clouded here. There are times when it is… stronger,” he settles on, and Rex suddenly remembers him calling his lightsaber to his hand, “and others when I can barely feel it.” The Sergeant approaches and Rex tries not to let his eyes widen when he sees him put his arms around the Jedi’s neck and squeeze him roughly. Fives stiffens. The Commander doesn’t react. Maul doesn’t either. After what seems like an eternity, he sighs again and Rex doesn’t know if it’s out of frustration or something else.

“I fear something terrible happened here.”

*

When they go looking for Maz’s guest, Maul can already feel her before they arrive in the room. 

All kinds of people come to Kanata’s castle, most looking for a place to unwind or a job, others to hide or at least wait for better odds. He’s used to sense all sorts of feelings here. The castle isn’t a Force nexus in itself but it is clearly a place whose connection to it is strong. He has a memory of his Master staying still in the catacombs, telling him about suffering and a battle between Jedi and Sith that had taken place a thousand years ago, and it was perhaps the first time he understood that Master Jon’s aloofness was the result of a life of hardship. 

Maul feels her mind brushing over his and has to stop walking. Dogma looks at him with worry, asking what is going on but all Maul can do is put a hand on the wall and _focus_. He shields his mind, slowly, enough to be able to feel her without her attacking his mind.

“Take off your helmet,” he says through gritted teeth, pulling on his hood. Dogma does as told without protesting. Maul takes in a deep breath. _Peace_. _Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ “As soon as we are in the room, do not make any sudden movements.”

“Sir?”

He puts a hand on Dogma and starts walking again. “She must have experienced something highly traumatic,” he whispers, “her mind is in a fragile state.” _She is losing her grip on reality_ , he doesn’t say. He turns back when he feels Maz approaching. “You didn’t say she was suffering,” he tells her, reproachfully. She looks at him, unfazed, and, despite their height difference, Maul suddenly feels small again.

“Antilles soothed her aches as much as he could. I have been trying to alleviate her pain ever since she came into my care but I am no Mind Healer.” She taps on his thigh in a soothing gesture and says softly, “she was peaceful until you arrived, my dear.”

He recoils at the words but she shushes him. He sees Dogma shift. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a couple of seconds, releases it and centers himself. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._

He puts a hand on the door and his whole being aches. He can feel her resolve, how she is fiercely trying to hold on the last bits of sanity she has left. How she is clutching at precious moments when her mind is _whole_ before everything slips away from her again. He tentatively tries to connect with her again and he can hear youthful laughter, feel the sunlight kissing her skin, a hand brushing her hair before everything swirls and fades to nothingness, pulled into the gravity well of a black hole, leaving vacuum and silence. Deafening silence, the lack of existence, timeless, neither alive nor dead, her mind floats in a state of oblivion. Then, sudden yet infinite, life and death burst again and he can hear youthful laughter, feel the sunlight kissing her skin, a hand brushing her hair before everything slips away and fades to nothingness—

“She’s trapped,” he says and he pushes the door open without thinking, forgets everything he said to Dogma and goes directly to her. She’s lying on a bedroll and her breaths are even; she seems, for lack of a better term, peaceful. He blinks and he does not know why but suddenly he takes her in his arms and looks at her. He can feel the even breaths she takes, sees how the sunlight coming from the windows illuminates the dark blue hues of her skin and when she opens her eyes and stares at him, his breath catches in his throat.

“You came,” she whispers, and her brown eyes shape into crescent moons for an instant. Her shaking hand brushes his cheek; she smiles at him and Maul is overwhelmed by the happiness she feels. She turns her head then, stares at nothing and her hand stills. She blinks, once, twice, then turns her eyes on him again and smiles. “Have you stopped running yet?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully and lets his eyes wander over her face. She is young, no more than twenty. Pantoran, that much is sure, but her eyes and hair are definitely human. “Who are you?”

She looks away again for one, two, three rises of her chest and Maul knows what is happening. He feels her mind, probes it gently, finds an opening and—

 _He hears the cries and the shouts and feels the despair, the anger, the fear, the lack of hope, all of it muted and transformed into cold detachment, the suppression of emotions and_ suddenly he is pushed back in the present with her and gasps. ”You need to come home, Master,” she says with no inflection in her voice, eyes still staring into space.

His hearts beat faster and suddenly he feels cold, thrown again into a flurry of emotions and broken memories. _Don’t go_ , he hears a child shouting. _Don’t leave me_ , he hears her yell. He feels the sorrow in her heart and hears her cries. He knows she is running, trying to stop a ship from flying away and shouting after it. “Who are you?” he hears himself ask again, his own mind reeling and his hearts drumming with the tempo of a child’s bated breath, lungs burning with the effort, feet injured by the scorching sand, running after a ship already far gone. _Whom are you running after?_ She looks back at him like she sees him for the first time. She touches a horn and smiles tiredly.

“Maul,” she says with reverence in her voice and her brown eyes fixate on his golden ones like she is seeing him again after a long time. “Do you remember when you told me we are more than our bodies?” she asks and his breath hitches, “I understand now.” Her hand stills. She looks at the closest window and blinks calmly. There’s a flag flying above it. _Come back,_ the child cries and shouts and yells and everything around her shakes and breaks. He sees a room full of furniture flying around her, caught in a whirlwind of chaos. Her small, young body shakes with tremors until there are strong arms around her, telling her _it’s okay, he’ll come back, he always does_ and Maul feels her sorrow, her hurt and the sheer sense of abandonment, _he left us, he left me—_ “I understand,” she repeats. _Come back_ , the child cries and Maul gasps.

“I’m right here,” he whispers. Her fragmented mind keeps brushing against his own, lashing out and tearing into it, pushing and pulling without her realising and he doesn’t reject her, acts as an anchor and tries to soothe her as much as he can. _Come back,_ the child cries and he feels the hole tearing into her heart, feels love replaced by sorrow then emptiness and he struggles for air. “I’m right here,” he repeats through the pain.

She turns sharp eyes on him. “Eredenn Prime,” she takes his chin in her hand, “Do not refuse the mission. Go there with him.”

“With whom?”

“ _Gar alor’ad_ ,” she whispers. He hears the child’s laugh, feels the wind on her hair and the hands raising her in the air, feels her glee when she is spinning, held by strong arms and saying _iviin'ycshy'a! Iviin'ycshy'a!_ and he feels how much she _loves._ “ _Jai'galaar'la sur'haii'se,_ ” she says like a prayer. Jaig eyes. A Mandalorian?

“What is happening on Eredenn Prime?” He brushes a hand in her hair and she sighs. He hears a child laughing with unbridled glee, feels strong arms holding her fiercely, senses her quiet love and the feeling of being loved back, the sensation of being safe and home. She stays silent. Maul feels her mind slipping. He tries to soothe her with gentle brushes of the Force. 

It’s the first time since Er’Kit the Force has felt certain about where he should go. He feels it stir, feels he is called to Eredenn Prime. He does not understand why but he knows he needs to listen to her, that he has to go there. Master Jon taught him to be attuned to the Force, to trust in it more than in anything or anyone else and Maul has an unwavering faith in it. If the Force calls him to Eredenn Prime, he’ll go. 

She looks at him and lets out a reluctant groan of pain. He shushes her without thinking, running a hand through her black hair. Her brown eyes settle on his face and she blinks. There are no tears in her eyes despite the unbearable pain she is submitted to. He knows why. He knows Pantorans don’t have lacrimal glands.

“I am tired, Master,” she says staring at the window, her voice straining. “I am very tired.” He feels her mind brushing his own. It’s impossible, he thinks. It cannot be and yet he feels like he knows her. His hearts beat faster. “I was hoping I could meet him,” she says with regret in her voice.

“Whom?” He asks, his thumbs brushing her forehead and when her eyes settle back on his face, they shape into crescent moons.

“I met you on a beach,” she says. “Facing a scarlet ocean.” He is engulfed by the sound of breaking waves, the feeling of water kissing her feet and his own voice saying _it’s okay, ad’ika, come here._ His hand stills. He’s never experienced th—“I’m tired, Maul.”

And suddenly, he feels it; they breathe together and her mind is _whole_ again. Maul stares at her face, records it in his mind. She blinks at him and he can see a small, young Pantoran with human curly hair and brown eyes, a toothy smile, arms extended to him with wonder in her eyes, feel the touch of a cool forehead on his lips, hear joyful giggles mingling with his own laugh. He feels love, pure and unbridled, and he doesn’t know if it is his or hers. The child is strong in the Force and there’s so much love, joy and warmth in such a small body. “Be with me,” she tells him, closing her eyes, and Maul instinctively hugs her tighter, lets her hair fall on his shoulder and her breath blowing cool air on his neck. He closes his eyes, commits the feel of her in his arms to memory. He puts his chin to her forehead, senses peace and serenity and he knows he is not the one projecting. She lets her head rest on his tabard and her eyelids tickle on his skin.

“Thank you,” she murmurs breathily and he has an inkling that she means more than this. She takes a deep breath. Another one. 

He holds her. She doesn’t take another one. He keeps holding onto her, lets his chin rest on her forehead. Her curly hair falls down his arm, slowly.

He grows aware of his surroundings at a slow pace, of Dogma standing in front of him and Maz sitting on the other side of the bedroll, of people walking in the corridors, talking and laughing among themselves. He doesn’t let go of her. No one tries to take her away from him. He hears Dogma shift behind him but doesn’t open his eyes. He feels a careful chin settling on the shoulder where she isn’t, an arm on his back, careful not to touch her.

_“Tion’ad kaysh, alor?”_ the _vod_ asks in a soft voice. Maul doesn’t open his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he replies truthfully and yet it feels like a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a (mandoa.org)  
> \- shebs: backside, rear, buttocks  
> \- nu’tome'tayl: he doesn’t remember (lit. no memory)  
> \- chakaar: corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse  
> \- gev, verd: stop it, soldier  
> \- vod’ika: little brother  
> \- kov'nyn: a head-butt, colloquially known as a Keldabe kiss (lit. head strike)  
> \- gar alor’ad: your captain  
> \- iviin'ycshy'a: faster  
> \- Jai'galaar'la sur'haii'se: Jaig eyes, shriek-hawk eyes, a combat honor adorning helmets  
> \- tion’ad kaysh, alor: who was she, sir? (lit. who she/he leader)
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- sleemo: slime-ball
> 
> Obviously why talk things out when you can escalate them by sucker punching a complete stranger while blurting every insult you can come up with, right, Schutta?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you seen _Scimitar_ ’s deckplan? My dude. What is up with that shit. You telling me he’s got six passenger seats but no vacc tube and his """"sleeping compartments"""" are 5x5? HIS SPEEDER IS 6’ LONG? I know he smaul but come on. The heck is he doin with SIX (6) passenger seats but no space to put stuff in his ship???? what are you maul??? an ubER DRIVER??¿???¿? WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING SOMEONE CALL SPACE MARIE KONDO AND HELP THIS IDIOT

“Your accent, it’s Corellian, right?”

Stat stares at Fives but does not reply. The ARC flushes a bit but doesn’t back down. The medic blinks and then his look _shifts_. Rex knows that look; it’s the one Kix gives them when they hide injuries. Fives stiffens and says _I’m not banged up_ automatically.

“High Corellian, aye,” Stat says slowly. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Rex tries not to groan. Fives shifts in his seat. There’s a high chance this wouldn’t have happened if Echo was already here. The medic smiles wryly. The Commander has been discreetly listening to the exchange since Fives decided to sit by the medic. The Sergeant has apparently less restraint and has been staring at them the whole time. Rex himself is tapping on a holopad. It’s all for show. They haven’t succeeded in connecting to the HoloNet. 

Tup and Echo come out of the lift and Rex sees the ARC quickly assessing the situation, deciding on where to sit. They’re all meeting on the upper deck, which consists of the cockpit and a back area with six seatings and a holopod. They could meet in the ready room on the lower deck but the Jedi suggested this and it’s a nice gesture. The cockpit is less personal. _Scimitar_ is not a small ship, far from it, but it’s definitely close quarters for five crew members. The cargo hold is bursting with three speeders and various pieces of equipment and most of the bays are filled to the brim; one was converted into a medbay, one into a makeshift galley and the others into what he can assume are sleeping quarters and ‘freshers. The ready room is a cluster of different things; there’s a clear path from the airlock to the medbay but, apart from that, it’s free-for-all. Rex saw a glimpse of a hologame table, droid parts with tools on a magplate, polished armor parts and others he can guess that are going to be cleaned and repaired as soon as they get the time. It’s clear _Scimitar_ is their main base of operations and the upper deck is the most impersonal part of the ship.

_You went snooping just like you did every time the trainers weren’t looking, didn’t you?_ All the doors are left open and Rex needs to assess every situation. It’s not like _that._ And he _never_ snooped. He was stealth-training, which is _completely_ different. Kark you, mental Cody.

Only three men left and they will all be here. For now, Rex has positioned himself on the seat in direct sight of the lift; Stat and Fives are one seat away from him, the Sergeant is on his opposite, flanked right after the lift’s doors and the Commander is standing up in front of the holopod. The pilot seat is still empty but facing them—which means there are only three seats left.

Rex watches Echo analyzing the situation. He cannot sit next to Tup, that much is clear. The only seats available are either the one between him and Stat, the one between Fives and Schutta or the pilot seat. Sitting Tup right next to the Sergeant would be unwise considering they were the ones who started trading punches but letting him take the seat next to Rex may also imply they’re not ready to work together yet. Echo looks at him and they both know him leaving his spot to either of them would not be a good move—which leaves either the pilot seat or standing up.

“Ah, don’t worry. Echo doesn’t remember me, either,” Stat says to Fives, shaking his head. “3233 was the loudest.”

“3233?” Echo says in surprise. In a quick but flawlessly orchestrated move, he takes all the attention on him, slowly pushes Tup to sit in the pilot seat and casually lays back on one of the armrests. It’s a bold move and yet it’s the most neutral one. Rex does a subtle nod of approval for Echo to catch when his eyes sweep over the room as if in deep thought. “Now that’s a designation I haven’t heard since our Domino days on Tipoca City.”

Stat huffs. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They all know that one; it’s the one reserved for fallen brothers. Fives looks at him and realization hits him.

“You’re 27-3555,” he whispers. “Cutup’s batchmate.” 

“4040?” Stat asks wryly. They both look at Echo when they hear him gasp.

“Kriff, how did I miss that?” The ARC lets out a shrill laugh. He points to the medic in a dramatic fashion with one hand and grips Tup’s shoulder with the other as if trying to balance himself. It’s so smooth Rex wants to ruffle his hair and never let him go. “You’re his first kiss!”

“ _Ne'johaa!”_ Stat snaps at the Sergeant and the Commander when he sees them opening their mouths. The latter seems to have entirely forgotten he’s been acting like he wasn’t listening in on them not even a second before. Rex lets go of his pad. “Echo, if you say one more word—”

“One dislocated shoulder, four stitches and a concussion!” Echo says in one breath and Fives bursts out laughing, quickly followed by the former. “Force, brother!” He howls in laughter. “Cutup fell down from the third level! Me’n Hevy had to drag him to the medbay and that idiot was only saying it was worth it!”

“Oh, _stars,_ ” Fives says, tears of laughter in his eyes. “Really did a brother dirty with this, didn’t you.”

Mesh’la tilts his head. “What the kark happened?” He blinks when his question only throws the ARCs into another fit of giggles. Stat groans miserably.

“That _koochoo_ opened the pod to take off his reds without telling me. I panicked and threw him off.”

Fives taps on his armored thigh repeatedly and roars with laughter.

“You just closed back your bunk and kept his uppers,” Echo reminisces. “We had to drag him half naked across the barracks and find an excuse while that idiot was riding the high wave!” Stat snorts despite clearly trying not to.

The lift opens and the three men left step in. Rex notes that Jesse is standing up. He’s swaying and clutching at Maul’s robe a bit too tightly. The Jedi doesn’t seem to notice; as soon as he lays eyes on Rex’s helmet, he stares at it and stops walking. What the kriff is wrong with his helmet? Jesse makes a loopy noise, propelling the Jedi to balance him. As soon as Dogma is within eyesight, Schutta takes his wrist and pulls him towards him. 

“ _Ke gebbar’ni,_ ” he says too low for Rex to hear but he can read it on his lips. Dogma frowns and replies _Tion’jor_ but sits down between him and Fives anyway. Rex tries not to react. He is almost certain Dogma did not know Mando’a when he was under his command. Most of the younger batches don’t; Mandalorian trainers are far less in numbers and don’t deal with the new batches. Fives and Echo know enough for Rex to be able to use it in the field since they’ve trained under Alpha and Jesse’s batch is one of the last ones – if not the last – to have trained first with a Mandalorian. Most of the men under his command know enough to follow orders but they definitely don’t _speak_ Mando’a out of the field. Sergeant Schutta definitely has ARC training behind him, though, and his accent is close to the original’s. He must have learned with the Alpha-class—possibly Mesh’la. Rex has also heard Maul speaking Mando’a and Stat just used it to talk to his squadmates. 

They’re a curious bunch, that much is certain. They seem close, though, and Dogma seems to trust them. They’re all very protective of each other and _Scimitar_ paints the image of a close bunch of _vode_.

“ _Kaysh cabuo’gar, vod’ika,_ ” Jesse says while sitting ungracefully on the floor and pushing Dogma’s knees apart to put himself between them, his back on the seat and his head lolling on the brother’s leg. “ _Di’kutla a’copikla. Nu’aru’ese olar._ ”

Rex stiffens. He can tell Jesse is slurring a bit and blinking slower than usual. He’s not fully unfit for duty but he’s not one hundred per cent. He’s in that dangerous zone where he knows to be careful when he speaks but does not really care. It’s usually the time when he starts speaking about Kix and nobody remarks on it. They all know Jesse is not ready to break formation. Just like they all know their medic is completely oblivious of the attention he receives. It doesn’t mean they have to be bastards about it.

“ _Gar serim. Di’kutla a’copikla ibac’ruus’alor,_ ” the Commander comments without looking at them. Stat snickers and Schutta glares at him. Rex relaxes minutely. Crisis averted. He watches Echo and Fives and sees how they slowly dissect the words, analyze the speech patterns and commit them to memory. Echo still has his hand on Tup’s shoulder and Fives has put his arm behind Dogma’s shoulders in the time Rex wasn’t looking at him. He sees movements back where Echo and Tup are and catches the latter signing _Together Unit_. Dogma smiles and signs back something Rex doesn’t understand. Must be batcherspeak. He looks at all of his men and his heart starts hammering in his chest. Karking thing’s acting up again.

Maul places himself next to the Commander and speaks to him in a tone too low for Rex to hear. He can only see the back of his head. Mesh’la subtly turns towards him, closing the distance and effectively creating a privacy bubble around them. He looks at the Jedi and they seem to have a silent conversation. Rex’s eyes narrow.

Maul turns his head back toward him and Rex raises his mental shield. He doesn’t bother making it subtle. The Zabrak doesn’t react and still stares at him. Mesh’la lowers his head to whisper in his ear and suddenly Rex hears himself breathing erratically. He hopes it isn’t loud enough for his vocoder to catch on. He looks at bright, glowing eyes and, when he sees Maul smiling at whatever the Commander is saying, he forgets how to breathe altogether. 

It’s the markings. It has to be. The Jedi is a _sight_ , there’s no doubt about that and there’s something about his presence that calls to attention. He’s the smaller one in height in the room and seeing they’re all shelled up he’s definitely not the largest one either. It can’t be the vestigial horns because even when he wears the hood his presence calls to attention. It may be the long, flowing black robe but, by now, Rex is just too used to see Jedi wearing inappropriate battlegear. He’s seen General Kenobi slowly getting rid of armor as the war goes on. He won’t even start about Commander Tano. He’s never met a Padawan Commander wearing armor. It’s like they’re all allergic to it. _Hang on._ Now that he’s looking…

Maul _is_ wearing armor and, if he’s not mistaken, that left vambrace is ARC-issued and his chestplate is made of synthmesh. They’re painted black and half hidden by his robe but Rex can clearly see them. His knee guards are scout gear and the gloves he’s wearing are usually favored by medics in the field. His right vambrace is definitely Phase II. They’re all painted black but it's unmistakably clone armor. Rex quickly checks and— _yeah._ The Commander’s left vambrace isn’t GAR issued, Stat’s gloves definitely aren’t either, Schutta is wearing unsanctioned knee guards and Dogma’s right vambrace is _not_ part of regular trooper armor. Kriff. Maul has swapped armor with all of his men. Does he—does he know what that means for clones? Rex's heart is hammering so loudly in his chest he wonders if anyone can hear it. His throat is dry. What was he thinking about again? Markings. Er, yes, the markings. That’s definitely what grabbed his attention. 

Maul replies to the Commander and there’s a wry smirk on his face. The black markings at the top of his lips make it more pronounced and, when he wrinkles his nose, the diamond-shaped mark in the middle almost disappears. It’s a nice nose. His eyes are gold and they shine. It shouldn’t but it’s really, really— _Rex! What the heck are you doing?_ He freezes. Those eyes settle back on him and, slowly, Maul tilts his head. Kark. He needs to calm down. What is wrong with him? 

“Captain?” Maul asks and Rex realizes he has no idea what is going on and what he is supposed to say. The Jedi waits. He can see the Commander raising an amused eyebrow.

“Hmm?” he answers, which must be one of the most intelligent replies Maul has ever received—if not _the_ one. Thank the Force he’s still wearing his helmet because, between the white of his armor and his mutie hair, his blush is as visible as a neon sign on the upper levels of Coruscant. He thinks he can see the _Jetii_ bite his cheeks and all of a sudden he just wants to be back in Tipoca City and able to crawl into his pod and never come out. At least, now he knows that even the most minute expressions on Maul’s face are easy to catch. They make his markings move. Yeah, at least, there’s that.

The Jedi walks toward him. His hooded head is tilted downward and his hands are folded into his sleeves. It’s not aggressive in the slightest, quite the contrary, and Rex thinks it is deliberate. He sits in the seat between him and Stat. The medic automatically leans a shoulder towards him, still deep in conversation with Fives, Dogma and Jesse. Rex thinks he’s probably not even conscious of it. Maul tilts his head and his hood slides off, revealing a neck entirely tattooed in black, ears included and—

“Is that an _earring_?” Rex blurts before he can stop himself. He is mortified. Maul’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second and he looks absolutely caught off guard.

“I—yes?” he says like he’s not sure, tone slightly rising at the end and Rex wants to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation.

“Gentlemen and Schutta,” the Commander says with a voice that makes everyone automatically shut up and listen to him. “We’ve just received intel from the dark ones.”

“Dark ones, sir?” Fives asks, to which Echo automatically answers _probe droids_. 

“There has been no recorded activity coming from the base for the last 16 standard hours.” The Commander frowns. “And we’ve lost contact with our source inside.”

“How long?” Maul asks and Rex can see this is news to him as well. The Commander grimaces.

“Last transmission was 22 standards ago.” The Jedi stiffens but hides it quickly.

“Same time we’ve lost our connexion to the HoloNet,” says Schutta, holopad in hand. “That’s also when I can see the first discrepancies showing up in _Scimitar_ ’s logs. From what I can tell, Captain Rex’s squad landed less than 20 standards ago but that’s about it.” He puts a hand in his hair in frustration, “everything’s within parameters and yet I can’t start the nav computer and Maul has no idea why the ion engines won’t start up but the cloak’s still on.”

“We don’t have access to the cannons either,” Maul says, sighing, “even though she’s in no worse shape than when we took off Nar Shaddaa.” He turns his head towards Stat. Rex notes that the back of his head is entirely tattooed. He has three horns there. “What have you found?”

The medic snorts. “A whole lot of nothing,” he says sarcastically. “No one can back up anyone else’s sitrep. None of them agree on how they’ve landed and we can’t even agree on where each of us were in the ship when we entered atmo. The only baseline I’ve got is the briefing with Skywalker and the babes.” 

Jesse’s eyes widen and he starts laughing with a high voice. “What did you just call us?”

Stat winces. “Not my idea,” he grumbles.

“ _I_ wanted _vaar'ike_ but the Commander decided otherwise,” Schutta adds unhelpfully. Before anyone else can get distracted, Rex raises a fist, signing _Halt_.

“Our priority must be _Scimitar_ ,” the Commander declares, nodding his thanks. “As long as the cloak stands, we’ve got cover but we have no way out and no long-range comm. If we can’t get the shield generator fixed, we’ll be sitting ducks.” _What’s a duck_ Jesse asks Dogma, aiming for a whisper and missing the mark by far. Fives pokes him dead center in the cog for good measure. The Commander looks at Echo with determination and says, “The—”

“We need to scout the base,” Maul argues, cutting off whatever Mesh’la was about to say. “You know as well as I do that they haven’t evacuated. We would know.”

“I couldn’t get close to it,” Dogma says. “Everytime I tried I blacked out. I’d approach the fifteen-kilometer mark and find myself heading back to the ship before I could realize what was going on.”

“I should go,” Maul says, unequivocal. The Commander’s eyes narrow. “No,” he growls. “No, you shouldn’t,” he adds when he sees the Jedi opening his mouth again. All at once, everyone is still. “You’re not going there until we’re ready. We need to assess what the kark is happening.” He raises a single finger at him. “ _Scimitar_ is the priority.” 

“Mesh’la—”

“ _No._ End of the discussion.”

Rex is not Force-sensitive but he swears he can _feel_ the moment when something shifts. All the men straighten and he sees Maul slowly move forward in his seat, how his shoulders then his entire body become loose. Alarms start rising in his head. The Jedi raises his chin at Mesh’la and Rex watches his neck, how his laryngeal prominence bobs, how his hands slowly grip the edges of his seat and he is hit with the realization that Maul is poised to pounce. He stares at the Commander with eyes full of predatory intent and Rex doesn’t know if it’s bravery or stupidity when Mesh’la doesn’t budge and squares his shoulder. Maul’s eyes widen at the gesture and Rex sees Fives slowly getting ready for a fight, pushing Stat to react. The medic takes Maul’s wrist in his hand and whispers _alor._

It’s instantaneous. Maul blinks, a couple of times, and his eyes slide to Stat’s hand. His whole demeanour changes. He sits back and nods shortly. He glares at the Commander but stays silent. Stat’s hand is still on his wrist. The Commander stares back at the Jedi. His face is completely blank. He looks away impassively.

“Sergeant, I need you and Maul to check if you’ve missed anything,” he says. He nods at Fives, “you told me you know your way around a ship, right?”

“Yeah,” the ARC answers, surprised, off-balance. Rex thinks they all are. He’s never seen a clone talk to a Jedi like that before. “I’ve never dabbled with one like that befo—”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Commander cuts in. “We need as much help as we can get.” He clenches his jaw. “Maul’s right. We need to set a watch sched and start scouting the base but _before that_ we need to understand what’s affecting us. I want to know if it’s chemical, biological or whatever karking poodoo this planet hides. Scouts’ll keep their commlink open at all times since everyone loses their bantha poodoo going out there.”

He stares at all of them, jaw set in a rigid line. 

“We’ll split into three teams with two scouts and one engineer. Cog, you’re out of commission for the next rotation.”

“Jesse.”

“Jesse,” the Commander amends. “Captain, you know your men more than I do, so I’ll defer to you for the teams.” At Rex’s nod, he adds wryly, “just leave Schutta to me and your most sensible one.”

Rex stands up and walks next to the Commander. This briefing may be the least professional one he’s been in – and that’s not an easy feat to achieve considering his General is _Anakin Skywalker_ – but he’d rather get shot right this instant than admit that Torrent doesn’t know sensible _._

“Echo,” he chooses instead and he purposely doesn’t look at the ARC. He knows the little shithead is definitely preening. Rex is not stupid enough to throw Tup under the airbus. Echo may seem nicer than most but he still got teeth. The Sarge smiles. There’s nothing nice about it.

“Oh, _Ey’ika_ ,” he says with manic viciousness and Rex has the definite feeling the Kaminoans injected salt, spices and bantha shit in his cloning vat. “You and I are gonna have so much fun together.”

Fives bristles at his tone; he starts opening his mouth but is cut short by Echo’s snort. “Sure,” he just replies dismissively and Rex knows he's made the right choice. Judging by the way the Commander looks at him, the man agrees. He looks behind the safety of his helmet how Tup and Dogma are staring at each other and takes a gamble. “Tup, Fives and Dogma,” he says and realizes where that leaves him. He’s teamed himself up with Stat and the Jedi.

The Commander nods promptly and takes the floor again. “My team’ll take the first shift. You’ll be up next,” he tells Rex. He looks at Dogma and says in all seriousness, “ _Vod_ , take the babes to bed and be nice.” Jesse snickers and pushes himself up while Fives wiggles his eyebrows at Dogma and Echo throws Tup at him. “No funny stuff in my bunk without me,” the Commander deadpans.

Rex doesn’t know which one is redder between Tup and Dogma. The latter simply nods at the Commander and Tup falls right beside him. Fives automatically puts an arm behind Jesse’s back to stop him from swaying. They’re going to be alright. They all salute before going and Echo gets up but doesn’t leave with them. He rattles his gauntlet with Fives absentmindedly when they pass each other. They exchange a silent look then Echo puts himself next to the Commander. The Sergeant sets himself next to Echo and Rex sees Stat and Maul placing themselves between him and the ARC, creating a small circle around the holopod. When the doors of the lift close, Schutta elbows Echo roughly.

“ _Gar cyar’ika_?” He asks, jerking the crown of his head at the door. “ _Rayshe'ase._ ”

Echo’s face falls then goes blank. His whole demeanor changes; suddenly, Rex is faced with the shiny he’s put his mark on.

He stiffens. Kriff. _Kriff._ He can’t even be angry at his ARC. This whole briefing has been weird; the Commander didn’t dismiss them according to regs and, since they’ve arrived, the ranks seem to be mostly on flimsi. It’s clear Maul isn’t the one to make the final decision despite being _a karking Jedi_ and Mesh’la’s men don’t pull rank on each other. Dogma, despite only being a trooper, seems to be considered equal with the Sergeant and the Corporal. The Commander made a crude joke not even five minutes ago. His men simply felt safe enough and Echo lowered his guard down for one second. Kriff. 

Breaking formation on Kamino is one thing; the cadets are young and inexperienced. It happens and, as long as neither the longnecks nor the trainers know, no one says anything. Rex remembers averting his gaze in the ‘freshers to give _vode_ some semblance of privacy or looking the other way when two cadets came out of a single pod. Stat trying out stuff with a batchmate is not something weird or rare. They were shinies; they didn’t know any better and, as long as they were with brothers, they didn’t need to hide or even question what they were doing. If you get caught, brothers will close ranks and support you, no matter what. You don’t leave a brother behind.

After deployment, though. It’s not the same. They’re _clones._ They’re _brothers._ Natborns understand different stuff when it comes to these things. On the field, your brothers are everything. No one understands what it is better than your brothers. They all know that. The Jedi know that. The natborn officers know that.

But you _don’t_ break formation with a brother. It doesn’t work like that. 

Jesse’s batchmates did, before he got transferred to Torrent. A natborn caught them and they were sent to Kamino. When they came back, they weren’t shinies anymore but they weren’t Jesse’s brothers either. _Dar’vode, cin vhetin,_ the CC used to say. Empty shells, the younger batchers call them.

Rex knows what his ARCs are risking. General Skywalker and Commander Tano may turn a blind eye to what happens in the barracks but Rex knows other natborns don't. Most Jedi don’t. Some clone commanders don’t either. He doesn’t want to come to this but, if he has to, Rex will protect his men at all costs. He won’t let them down, not after what happened on Um—

“ _Mandokarla_?” Maul asks and Echo stands at attention. He doesn’t look at any of them. The other brothers seem put off by his lack of answer. Rex readies himself for a fight. 

“We’re ARC troopers, sir. We do not compromise the integrity of supervisory authority or the chain of command, nor do we cause actual or perceived partiality or unfairness,” Echo drills. “We do not create an actual or clearly predictable adverse impact on discipline, authority, morale or the ability of the command to accomplish its mission, sir.”

Maul looks at him but stays silent. Stat glares viciously in Rex's direction. He doesn't react.

“I’ll check the engines again and tell you if I find something,” the Sergeant says abruptly to Maul. The Jedi only nods. The former grunts _right_ , taps Echo’s back in what is probably supposed to be a friendly gesture but is definitely too rough and brusque and goes to the lift, without bothering with anything that could resemble a proper salute. They really bred him weird, that one.

“We won’t start advanced scout patrols before your shift, Captain,” the Commander says harshly. “Echo and I will keep watch and I’m sending the dark ones back again. They’ll bring back samples for you,” he says to the medic.

“Sir,” Stat says with a sigh, “I’ve been trained to analyse _sentient bodies,_ not plants, dirt or minerals.”

“What about Deebee?”

“He’s a med-5 droid specialised in _sentient species._ Apart from blood work there’s not much we can do without the HoloNet.”

“Fine,” the Commander frowns. He nods at Rex and says, “we’ll assess when you take command.” Rex’s eyebrow raises. He’d assume Maul would. He doesn’t say it, though. The Jedi doesn’t react. “Gear up, _Eyayah._ We’re gonna talk a walk outside.” Echo salutes him and goes to the lift. Eh. Rex raised him right, that one. The Commander signs to Stat—something Rex doesn’t understand. He narrows his eyes.

The medic nods sharply, throws a glance at him and goes to the lift. 

“Captain,” the Commander says and Rex stiffens at his tone. He knows that one; it’s the one Alpha used before wiping the mats with their faces. He stands at attention. “The GAR expressly prohibits relationships that meet any of the criteria ARC-1409 cited earlier,” the Commander states calmly. “Do you have anything to report concerning ARC-5555 and ARC-1409?” 

Rex’s blood boils. He takes off his helmet. He doesn’t let anything cross his face. “Sir, if I may address your suggestion. _Echo_ and _Fives_ are good ARCs. They led men to victory during the raid on Kamino and their quick thinking and battle strategies led the Republic to take control of the Nexus Route, effectively proving they are essential GAR ressources. They are good soldiers," he says and his fist clench. “Good men.” For the first time since Schutta left, the Jedi moves. He opens his mouth to speak but stops when the Commander steps closer to Rex.

“Do _you_ have an issue with fraternization? Are _you_ the reason he shelled up?”

“No,” he sneers. “Will _you_?” he adds before he can stop himself. 

“No,” Maul says. He sounds offended. The Commander mutters _of course not_. He takes a step back and comments dryly, “we’re not really bent up on the rules, if you haven’t noticed.” He looks at Rex, his gaze assessing. “I can see 17’s work. You’re one of the first class, aren’t you?” Rex nods. The Commander smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know Neyo, then.”

His stomach drops. Rex knew CC-8826 even before he chose his name. He knew him back when he was still a cadet—when he and Ponds were inseparable.

“Yeah,” he replies, his throat dry. Neyo was difficult to miss; hewas vicious and cunning. He was the fiercest _vod_ in Alpha’s program after Cody. He was also annoyingly talkative, blathering at whoever was in his vicinity, constantly going on about a _vod_ he was completely smitten with. _His disaster_ he used to call him and Ponds never admitted he knew the brother but Rex was sure he did. Neyo was a pain in the _shebs_ but fierfek was he good. Command material through and through.

One week after they completed Alpha’s program, Neyo went missing. He reappeared forty-six standard hours after and stopped talking about his disaster. Didn’t talk much about anything anymore. He was still the fiercest one after Cody and as vicious and cunning as before but he also became cold and distant. _Dar’vod, cin vhetin,_ the CC used to say.

They all understood the unspoken rule. Do not break formation with a brother.

“I interfere whenever I can,” Maul says and the despair in his eyes looks genuine, “but there is only so much I can do.”

Rex stares at him and has to swallow. His throat clicks. “Dogma?”

“He’s ours, now,” the Commander says. He squares his shoulders. “The _Kaminiise_ can go kriff themselves for all I care.” He jerks his head towards the Jedi. “He’s acting all mighty but he thinks the same.”

Maul huffs but doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes and bows his head down to hide his smirk. Rex’s heart starts acting up again.

“Get some rest,” the Commander tells him. “We’ll need you sharp and focused.”

Rex understands the dismissal for what it is and nods. He doesn’t put on his bucket but he still salutes before leaving. He’ll be karked before he acts like a savage.

The lift opens to the ready room and Rex sees Schutta standing on the threshold of one of the sleeping quarters, in what seems to be a bizarre combination of blacks and civilian clothes. His back is facing Rex and he seems deep in conversation.

“The littluns are _disgustingly_ cute. _Vod’ika_ ’s all wrapped around the babe with hair. _Huchaspu_ ,” he says with mock disgust. He doesn’t wait for a response and turns around. When he sees Rex, he doesn’t say anything, just goes directly past him, opening what Rex guesses must be the hatch to the engineering access chamber and disappears from view. Rex shrugs and goes to the opened bunkroom. He stops on the threshold. He takes a couple of steps back and turns back when he hears a pair of familiar footsteps.

Echo and Fives watch him warily. They’re keeping distance between themselves. Rex’s heart clenches. _All clear,_ he signs. He hesitates. _Friendlies._

Fives is naturally the one to speak first. “You sure?” he asks skeptically. “Even—?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he whispers. Maul did not seem to deceive him. “I think he’s like ours. Or Kote’s.” He puts a hand on his temple. “Get some sleep, Fives.” He can’t really tell Echo to get ready; he was already in full gear even before he went to the upper deck.

“Easy to say,” Fives snorts. “I’m gonna bunk with Jesse. That _chakaar_ is karking heavy and he snores more than Boost.” Rex rolls his eyes. No one snores more than Boost. That brother is a menace. There’s a saying about knowing when the Wolfpack is bunking on planet; you just need to wait for the snores to shake the ground. Echo pushes Fives towards one of the closed bays. He goes without putting much of a fuss. Rex sighs and heads towards the door Schutta was leaning on. He stops when he is on the threshold.

There are only two beds. 

Well. Guess he’ll have to bunk with a brother.

Stat is already lying on the top bunk, in his blacks with a pad in hand and a frown on his face. Rex realizes he should stop being weird and proceeds to take off his armor. He puts the pieces on the rack next to Stat’s gear. He’s halfway through when Maul enters the room. The Jedi doesn’t look at any of them. He starts taking off his robe, then the pieces of armor with practised routine, in a way that speaks of years of repeated motion, a soothing melody of clacks, clasps and clicks Rex is used to hear from all of his brothers. The vambraces and his lightsaber go on the rack next to Stat’s and Rex’s gears, then the boots and the knee guards. The chestplate is set down next to Stat’s bucket and Rex catches a glimpse of red on the inside. It seems to be an intricate design similar to the senate seal of the Coruscant Guard, painted right where the Jedi’s center of mass is. It’s odd; Coruscant Guard don’t wear synthmesh, only the Marines do. 

Maul takes off his tabard, folds it in a way that seems less practised than the armor, unties his sash and rolls it, puts them on the chestplate then takes off his tunic and— _Sithspit that’s a whole lot of skin._ Rex freezes, stares at his chest and _kark_ he’s got markings everywhere. He’s jolted out of his state of high alert when Maul puts gloved hands on his loose pants and takes them off completely, leaving him only in— _are those blacks?_ Is he wearing blacks? He moves next to Stat and it becomes unmistakable—they both wear blacks. Stat hands him his datapad, takes the blanket, throws it on the bottom bunk and lays down. Rex is half tempted to say _he_ wouldn’t mind the blanket, thank you very much, but settles on taking off the rest of his armor. He’ll take it back himself. He puts all the parts on the rack and stops abruptly when he sees Maul putting the pad next to his stuff then moving back towards the bed.

His back is more tattoo than skin. The black markings form some sort of Vev-pattern, starting at his shoulders and ending at the lower half of his spine with two ur-diamond shaped forms. The more thin markings Rex saw on his chest continue on his shoulders and end in a pattern resembling the lightning storms he could see hit the ocean waves back in Tipoca City. His lower back is entirely tattooed and the markings seem to continue behind his blacks. With each movement his muscles ripple and Rex is entranced by them, by seeing how the markings follow the motion.

He’s beautiful, there’s no denying it. His body is a work of art. Rex doesn’t know much about this kind of stuff; he wasn’t raised to become an expert on aesthetics after all but— _this,_ this he likes. More than the weird Mandalorian cubist paintings Wolffe secretly loves to talk about. And definitely more than the half burnt old tapestries they found on Ryloth post-battle. Senator Orn Free Taa seemed to think they were one of the greatest losses of the battle. He hadn't been quiet about it either, complaining that they could have made an effort not to damage them. Rex has said nothing. He hadn’t looked at them too much; there was still fresh blood from fallen brothers on them.

Maul, though. He can’t seem to stop looking. He’s all muscle but that’s not what catches Rex’s attention. He and his brothers are all muscle as well; they’re soldiers, bred and raised to be killing machines, their bodies finely tuned for war. He himself is larger than most; his muscles are big but functional. He became visibly larger than most of his brothers under Alpha’s training, gaining weight as much as Fox and Grey did to Cody’s greatest chagrin, making them the three biggest banthacakes of Command as Thire used to call them. Fives is unarguably larger than Rex is, a hulking form since Alpha trained both him and Echo. The latter’s always been leaner than his brothers and they all see it immediately, the same way Rex’s mutie hair made him stand out as a cadet. Alpha carved more muscles out of Echo; now his arms have some mass on them, making his waist appear leaner than it already was. _He doesn’t need big guns ‘cause he already has them_ Jesse jokes every time they’re in the ‘fresher. 

Maul is similar and completely different at the same time. He’s not a big man, even without taking his height into account, and his Jedi clothes hide most of his body. He’s not all lean muscle either; there’s some mass in his pecs and his arms, not as much as Rex’s or Fives’ but there’s more mass in his midsection than Echo’s. All of his muscles are defined and the markings make them catch the eye even more quickly. Rex sees him walk, roll his shoulders and he can see his back muscles relaxing, markings following the most minute motions and exacerbating them.

“Hurry up, I’m tired,” Stat mumbles and Rex’s eyebrows rise. “I’m shielding. You run too hot,” he adds, extending an arm. The Jedi chuckles.

“Commanding much?” He laughs when Stat simply groans and waves his hand at him. He takes it and gracefully climbs up, half on top of the medic. His muscles ripple with the movement; Rex’s breath hitches. 

“You need to move if you shield, _tat,_ ” the Jedi says and now Rex gets why he thinks his Mando’a sounds off. Bacara is the only brother he knows who says _tat_ instead of _vod_ and he’s the only one of them who’s learned Concordian before Mando’a.

The two move until they find a comfortable position and in a matter of seconds Rex can already hear the distinct breathing pattern of a sleeping brother. 

Maul is laying on his back with his side to the wall, one of his arms hovering outside of the bunk and Stat is half sprawled on top of him, snoring softly, with his head on one of the Zabrak’s shoulders. Rex sees Maul’s head slowly moving until he has his chin on top of the medic’s head. He sighs in content and his gloved hand brushes the curls of Stat’s slightly too long to be a regulation haircut. Rex averts his gaze. He puts his bucket on the rack next to Maul’s weird looking ‘saber. When he turns back towards the bunk, he sees Maul staring at his bucket for a long time. Suddenly, his glowing eyes settle on him and Rex feels his heart hammering in his chest. He walks automatically and lays down on his bed, eyes staring at the bunk on top of his. He looks at the gloved hand hovering and falls asleep looking at the black patterns on the Jedi’s skin. He dreams about glowing golden eyes looking at him in the low light, a soft even voice rumbling words he doesn’t understand but can feel on his skin, hot lips on his neck and his blacks feel too tight when he sleeps.

He wakes up to the sounds of Jesse whisper-shouting _where’s the vacc tube_ and he takes a sharp intake of breath. His heart hammers in his chest and threatens to go out when he sees Maul’s gloved hand move in a swift motion, opening the door of one of the bays in what must be the most laziest use of the Force he’s ever seen. He shields his mind and tries to fall back asleep, trying hard not to think about his dreams.

He’s kriffed. He is deeply, deeply kriffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a (mandoa.org)  
> \- Ne'johaa: shut up (lit. no language)  
> \- Ke gebbar’ni: stay close to me (lit. close to me, with the imperative prefix ‘ke’)  
> \- Tion’jor: why  
> \- Kaysh cabuo’gar, vod’ika: he’s protecting you, little brother (lit. he/she guard you, little brother)  
> \- Di’kutla a’copikla: lit. idiotic but cute  
> \- Nu’aru’ese olar: there are no enemies here (lit. no enemies here)  
> \- Gar serim: yes, you’re right/that’s it (lit. you accurate/correct)  
> \- ibac’ruus’alor: that’s the Sergeant (lit. that rock leader)  
> \- vaar’ika: pip-squeak, runt (lit. little half-grown)  
> \- Ey’ika: little echo, affectionate  
> \- gar cyar’ika: your sweetheart  
> \- Rayshe'ase: lit. Fives  
> \- dar’vod: no longer a brother  
> \- cin vhetin: fresh start, clean slate; ironic in context  
> \- chakaar: corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- Koochoo: an idiot  
> \- Huchaspu: disgusting
> 
> What’s up with Cutup? why my man the only brother w/ a scottish accent??¿ʔ  
> I’m going with something cracky (why? Well this is a Rex/Maul fic, we’re way past crack mate) and say it’s because his first trainer was a stuffy Corellian. The only dude I can remember having a Scottish accent in CW besides Cutup was Adm Killian, who was Corellian. Sooo since Han and Wedge def have no Scottish accent... Let’s say it’s a snob High Corellian thing vs. American is for the masses? hahaha filoni owns my life


	7. Chapter 7

_“My source is solid,”_ the hologram of Quinlan Vos says, “ _But I can’t make a move right now. You need to go alone; he won’t give you anything if he thinks you’re being followed. Just know that if you’re in, you’re in.”_ He stays silent for a beat. _“I’m sending a copy of this message to Master Yoda. I know you don’t trust me and I know who you’re after but I’m telling you to drop it. There are more important things happening right now than your personal vendetta, even if I won’t lose sleep over the death of a Darksider.”_ And with that, the recording is cut short. Maul turns off his Hush-98 and clips it back on his bracer.

“So what?” Stat offers him a wan smile. “After everything, we’re just letting him _go_?”

Schutta is unusually silent. He’s polishing a freshly repaired Evah. He’s been tinkering with the DRK-1s these last few weeks. Evah is more than ready but he’s been polishing her since they started listening to Vos’ message for the first time. He stops himself from sighing. His Commander is looking at him closely, probably analysing the most minute facial expressions he can find. The ready room is filled with tension. Schutta is on the floor next to all of their mech parts, Stat on his right, propped up on the hologame table. Mesh’la is in one of the seats on the opposite side, arms crossed over his chest, still in his _beskar’gam._ It’s a good look on him. Dogma sits on what they’ve declared the meditation crate, feet dangling, slightly leaning towards Maul, himself being propped against said-crate.

Maul says slowly, “I’m not saying that, I—”

“Please, don’t,” Stat cuts him off calmly. “This is _exactly_ what you’re saying.” He laughs. There’s no humour in it. He shakes his head. “You’re only considering it because some crazy woman told you not to refuse a mission which, I’d like to remind everyone, is supposed to be on Eredenn Prime—not _Nar Shaddaa_. I can’t believe it,” he scoffs. “I can’t believe _you._ ”

He walks towards Maul and opens the landing ramp. He steps outside without looking at any of them, purposely not touching Maul even though half of his body blocks the exit. Stat’s calm; he doesn’t sense any anger coming from the Force. He used to be angry all the time, he muses. He doesn’t know if the Corporal's lack of anger right now is a good sign. Maul turns his head back to the ready room when he hears Schutta tinkering with the droid. He quickly glances at Mesh’la, who is still staring at him silently. Their Sergeant has yet to acknowledge them. Dogma shifts, angling his body towards the airlock. Maul nods at the silent suggestion. The _vod_ pushes himself off the crate, softly taps their bracers together and silently goes looking for Stat.

They haven’t talked about what happened on Er’Kit. They’re still too raw for that. He and Mesh’la had, briefly, but they haven’t talked as a team. Dogma may have a vague idea of what happened—enough to guess he should avoid the subject altogether. Enough to know when he should steer them towards another topic. Enough to know when touch would be welcomed or not. Maul closes his eyes. They’ve been so concerned about Dogma’s well-being they never realised he’s been concerned about them all that time.

“Talk to me, _tat_ ,” he says to Schutta, allowing emotions to colour his voice. “ _Jorhaa’i, Shu'shuk._ ”

His Sergeant abruptly lets go of Evah and puts his hands on his face. Maul opens his eyes and sees him take deep, even breaths. The Force around him is as rattled as he is. Maul stays silent. He knows forcing the issue isn’t the right way, here, despite being his first method of approach for everything. 

“What’s the point,” Schutta says, letting his hands fall on his legs, his face blank. There’s no inflection in his voice. “You’ve already made up your mind.”

Maul takes a step back unconsciously. He’s backed up against the wall. The Force feels cold around him. “That’s not true,” he says through the swirl of emotions threatening to swallow him. “I wouldn’t—” He stops abruptly.

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Schutta’s right. Maul feels sick. He has already made up his mind. He’s not asking for their opinion; he’s merely trying to convince them. He feels sick with the realisation. The _vod_ doesn’t react. His Sergeant should never be this emotionless. He’s supposed to be the loudest—the brash one, the one they can’t ask to stay calm. Mesh’la is still staring at Maul. He hasn’t said anything, hasn’t wavered. He already knew. They both knew. Maul is the only one who needed to catch up.

He takes a step forward and freezes when he sees Schutta raising a hand and shaking his head, refusing to look at him. His hearts constrict in his chest. Breath eludes him. He is completely unbalanced. He closes his eyes and centers himself again. He focuses on the Force around him, feels Schutta and Mesh’la but does not focus on them. He feels Dogma and Stat nearby, birds perched on branches above them, and feels fish in the small stream next to where _Scimitar_ is. He feels the Force flowing through all living things, connecting them all together. He lets it all wash over him, does not experience it as a self but rather as a part of it. He repeats the mantra. _Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force._ Slowly, he comes back to himself, feels the rough fabric on his skin, the parts of armor he’s now used to wear, the familiar weight of his saberstaff at his side. He opens his eyes, takes a couple of steps forward and kneels in front of Schutta. He does not touch him.

“We will lose ourselves if we follow this path,” he says with certainty. He stops himself from putting his hands on Schutta’s face. “We must put our faith in the Force.” 

“He killed Kivan. He killed Squad Nine,” his Sergeant sneers. He takes Maul’s hands and roughly puts them on his abdomen. “If it weren’t for Stat I’d be _dead._ You forgot?”

_I didn’t_ , he wants to say. _I remember._

_I still don’t understand why they sent you, Eyayah,_ Mesh’la said. The three of them were sitting in the ready room, waiting for the other team to call them. Maul was tinkering with his new chestplate. It was a gift given to him wrapped in a red cloth made of aeien silk; a modified ARC chestplate made of synthmesh, heavy but durable and flexible, painted black with a stylised red senate seal in the colour of the Coruscant Guard on the inside. Mesh’la had thrown a fit when he showed it to him. _Aren’t you_ Jetiise _supposed to own nothing but your sabers?_ His Commander had sneered. _Do you want me to give you back your bracer?_ Maul had calmly replied back. Mesh’la had just spluttered and decided to never talk about the chestplate again. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m always happy to meet someone who pisses off 17,” his Commander said. Echo snorted. “But the fact is we’ve been sitting here for three weeks and the most action we’ve seen is Schutta playing _ke viini_ stark naked in the ship because he was bored. Kriff, most of the time I’ve been sitting somewhere waiting for someone to relieve us and that’s it. I don’t understand why they sent us Kivan and his guys from the 91st either.”

“Orders are orders, sir,” the ARC replied. They hadn’t talked much with him since their joint-mission started. Mostly because they stuck to themselves and because Stat was a bit reticent to spend time with him. Maul wasn’t sure why but, if his medic wanted to avoid him, they would. Or, at least, as much as they could without compromising the miss—

He let go of the chestplate instantly. His breath caught in his throat; he felt a searing pain in his abdomen. He could not feel Schutta anymore. Mesh’la rose from his seat, went to him and clutched his arms in alarm. Maul took a sharp breath, his hearts hammering in his chest and he gasped _Schutta._ He saw his Commander’s eyes widen, saw him bark in his comm _Kwosnyee, respond, I said respond, Kwosnyee_ and Maul didn’t think. He stood up, went for one of the speeders, opened _Scimitar_ and drove straight to his Sergeant.

He felt the dark pulls of the Force even before he entered the room. He smelled the blood and the gore even before he opened the door. Maul choked on the smell of burnt flesh. He took his saberstaff in hand.

The first thing he saw was a body cut in half. The second thing he saw was Kivan’s severed head, his bulging eyes opened in horror. Blood never seeps out of a lightsaber’s wound. It didn’t with Kivan’s. The first thing he heard was Stat’s desperate call. He ran towards the sound, opened the door to the bedroom and saw his medic yelling, desperately trying to keep Schutta alive, hands and arms covered in blood, trying to put pressure on his abdomen.

The second thing he heard was his Sergeant choking on the blood seeping out of his mouth. Maul knelt next to him, putting his saber and gloves away and a hand on Schutta’s abdomen, called on the Force and focused on him alone. He might be too late, he thought, but he did not let it register more than as a surface thought. He focused on the wounds, on the flesh cut open, the torn muscle and sinews, on the injured organs and reached out with his mind. He felt desperate. He has always been stronger in the Living Force. He felt the flesh slowly mending and knitting itself back together and he gasped, drained. He saw Stat took over and passed out to the sound of his Commander’s footsteps.

“I remember,” Maul rasps, clutching on Schutta’s shirt. He knows what’s beneath it, knows the scars turned white inside out, knows their pattern by heart. He’s still afraid sometimes; he hesitates before nudging his Sergeant with his horns because he doesn’t know if it will always be welcomed. Schutta is always the first to touch his horns freely but it doesn’t mean Maul should touch him with them whenever he wants to. “This is why I don’t want us to follow this path,” he whispers. “Feral Opress took enough from us. No more,” he says with determination.

He sees how his Sergeant trembles and, when he takes Maul’s hands in his own and clutches them enough to bruise, he lets him.

“I hate it,” he spits with resignation, eyes closed. “I hate how you can spout that sort of poodoo and yet I _know_ you’re karking right. I karking hate it.” He looks at Mesh’la and the two have a silent conversation. Maul knows this is not for him to see and analyse, so he doesn’t. He hears his Commander huff and feels Schutta’s grip on his wrist soften. It’s when he sees the eyes of his Sergeant staring back at him that he knows they have come to an agreement. 

“What do we do?” Schutta asks, grim determination in his voice. Maul glances at his Commander and sees something similar in his eyes. He sighs.

“I need to update the Council on your findings in Tondatha. After that, I’ll need to inform them about Vos.” He is not sure he should talk about what happened at Kanata’s to the Council. His hearts feel heavy. The sad truth is that, even if he wanted to, he doesn’t even know the name of the girl who died in his arms.

“And if they don’t listen?” His Commander asks, speaking for the first time since they’ve regrouped on _Scimitar._ Maul grimaces. He knows what Mesh’la is looking for. He wants to know if Maul is confident enough in Vos to go against the Council should the need arise.

And the truth is, he’s not; he doesn’t trust Vos. They’re too different, now. Maybe Quinlan changed too much from the young Kiffar Maul used to look up to with awe in his eyes, or maybe it’s him who changed too much. They’ve worked with him on a couple of missions and, if there’s one thing Maul has learnt from them, it’s that Quinlan Vos is unpredictable.

He hasn’t mentioned Eredenn Prime. He only talked about a contact hiding in Nar Shaddaa, with information on a Separatist prototype capable of changing the course of the war. And yet, Maul has an inkling this mission will lead them right to Eredenn Prime.

He starts taking off pieces of his armour. He puts the chestplate, the knee guards, his robe, his tabard and his overtunic on the meditation crate, one by one, like a ritual. He keeps the boots, his sleeveless undertunic, his obi, his trousers and his bracers. He’s been wearing more or less what is considered regular Jedi apparel for almost three years now, since the war started, but it still feels too restrictive. He’s not used to it after all; his life in the Outer Rim is more suited to clothes making him inconspicuous. He’s already hard to miss considering Nightbrothers are a rarity outside of Dathomir; he doesn’t need to put a bigger target on his head by wearing obvious Jedi apparel. He shakes his head. He’s getting distracted, buying time. He sighs, looks at his men and sees the determination in their eyes. “I won’t make the decision alone,” he says. 

“ _Solus_ ,” Schutta says and signs _Together_. “ _Solus_ ,” his Commander says. Maul nods.

Mesh’la gets up and puts on the helmet. He points to the lift. “Go talk to them,” he says gruffly. “I’ll take care of Stat.” When Maul hesitates, he sighs. “As beautiful as your face is, I don’t think he wants to see it right now, sir. Sarge?” he asks, nudging him with his boot. 

“Nah, I’m good,” his Sergeant says. He looks at Maul. “Can I come with you?”

His hearts constrict in his chest. He nods and extends a hand to him. He pulls him up and Schutta goes straight to the lift, without waiting for him. Maul closes his eyes and waits. It doesn’t take long for his Commander to rattle his gauntlet on Maul’s bracer. The beskar does not rattle like plastoid does. Mesh’la has been slowly amassing beskar; it took him two years and rescuing a _goran_ but he has a full armour now. He doesn’t wear it most of the time. He may think he is still not worthy of it. He has no clan, and, despite having been trained by Mandalorians from the _Cuy'val Dar_ , he is not recognised as a Mandalorian. Maul says nothing about it. It is not his place; he is not Mandalorian after all. There is no Mand’alor now that Jango Fett died; if Mesh’la adhered to the _Resol’nare_ , it would not go against his loyalty to the Republic. It is not Maul’s place to tell him that, however. 

They stay side by side for a moment. Neither of them seem ready to break the silence. He opens his eyes and sighs. He is stubborn, he knows, but his Commander is even more stubborn than he is.

“Did you know her,” Mesh’la asks and Maul is taken aback, not expecting him to talk first. It takes him a couple of seconds to understand who he is referring to and—

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never seen her before but—” he thinks about her memories, him embracing her and the both of them laughing together, “I recognised her.”

“How is that possible?”

“It isn’t,” he answers straight away. “None of what I can come up with makes sense.”

Mesh’la stiffens and, after a beat, he relents and taps his helmet softly on Maul’s forehead. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says before leaving. Maul doesn’t tell him he hopes so as well even though he does. He doesn’t move or open his eyes until Mesh’la is long gone. He calms his mind, releases his emotions in the Force and prepares himself to face the Council.

It goes surprisingly well, considering.

He has not even finished reporting what they found in Tondatha that Master Windu is sending them after Vos’ contact. Maul thinks with growing suspicion the man is only agreeing with Vos’ plan because he never approved of Maul going after Feral Opress in the first place. He won’t comment on it, be that as it may, since it is rather convenient at the moment. 

“Before we embark on this, I need to confer with my men,” Maul says. “I cannot make such a decision alone.” Master Yoda nods approvingly while Master Windu frowns.

“Will you go on your own?” The latter asks. Maul sees Schutta perk up at that. He doesn’t let it deter him. He signs _Hold_ before his Sergeant can say anything. 

“I should,” he replies and does not let his relief show when Schutta stays silent. Small mercies. “You heard what Master Vos said. I should not risk it; if the intel is correct, there is much at stake, Master.”

“Unwise not to verify the veracity of this, it would be,” Master Yoda says, his cane tapping on the floor rhythmically. He stays silent for a moment but they all know not to take the floor. “Knight Maul. More to say, have you?”

He hesitates. “No, Masters,” he says and bows respectfully. Master Windu narrows his eyes but stays silent. Master Yoda bows respectfully and cuts his end of the transmission. Master Windu has yet to follow. Maul has an odd sense of deja vu, except this time he feels dread settling in his chest. 

“When you were a youngling, you used to make this… face,” he settles on, “Right before doing something you were not supposed to.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Master,” he replies smoothly. “This is merely the face I was born with.”

“Don’t act cocky with me, Maul. Just tell me you won’t go after Opress.”

_Why_ , he wants to ask. _Why do you care,_ he wants to sneer. He doesn’t. He remembers one cold night on Coruscant, his last one, when he was ten and felt lost for the first time in his life. Obi-Wan had just been sent to Bandomeer to work with the AgriCorps, considered too old at thirteen to become a Padawan. He remembers how desperate he felt, seeing his closest friend sent away because no one could see his potential. _I might as well ask to be reassigned to the ExplorCorps right away_ , he thought. If Obi-Wan couldn’t become a Padawan, there was little chance Maul would. No one would choose a youngling so tainted by the dark side. He had hoped, for a moment, that Master Plo would but, with the death of Master Tyvokka so fresh, neither of them were ready to make such a decision. 

_You stopped caring the moment you sent me away_ , Maul wants to say. He doesn’t. He remembers one cold night on Coruscant, his last one, when Master Windu sent him on a ship to Nar Shaddaa with a mission he’d fail spectacularly. He remembers the trip, on his own at ten years old, thinking about Obi-Wan, knowing he would never see him again. 

“Did you know?” he asks instead. “When you sent me to Nar Shaddaa. Were you hoping I’d find her?” _Or did you just send me there hoping I would never come back_ , he doesn’t ask. He remembers one night on Nar Shaddaa, not the first one and certainly not the last, when he was ten and feeling tired and hungry, caged and barely conscious in the cargo hold of a Zygerrian ship. One of the most important moments of his life as a Jedi, he now knows but, at the time, Maul only thought that night would be his last one as a free Zabrak. _You will always be a Nightbrother first_ , he had heard from his most callous crèche-mates and, in that ship, he thought they were right all along. He doesn’t remember much from that night, too impaired by the drugs they’d given him to make him more complacent. He has flashes and feelings, the green hues of a lightsaber, the anger of his captors and the faint pulls of the dark side. He remembers the day after, waking up in another ship in hyperspace, confused and wary, Jon Antilles staring at him and sensing the man’s strong presence in the Force. _I have to find the Dark Woman_ , he said to the Jedi. 

He never did.

“No,” Master Windu replies. “I knew _he_ would.” Maul remembers Jon Antilles giving him water and fresh meat, staring at him like he was a puzzle he could not solve. He remembers that morning, feeling resigned to failure and rejection, thinking Master Antilles will be the last Jedi to know he could have been one too. _Who are you_ were the first words Jon Antilles said to him. _I am Maul,_ he replied. _Who are you,_ Antilles asked again. Confused, Maul remained silent. _It’s alright,_ Antilles said. _We will find out together._

He never met Dark Woman. His Master took great caution for him not to. Maul does not know much about his own Master’s Padawanship under the Dark Woman but he has seen enough. Being a Lightsider does not necessarily entail being _good._ No one can be _good_ and do what she did. He knows Master Jon’s scars as much as he knows his own markings; they are familiar and a constant and Maul hates that he can easily say which ones are the oldest, which ones were probably the most painful and which ones his Master took great care to hide from him as long as he could. It is neither his place nor his choice but, if he did have the choice, Maul would never forgive her for what she did. He is, however, a Jedi; his grudge and resentment do not serve him well.

Unfortunately, Maul is a poor Jedi. He loves too much and too deeply.

At times, he wonders if Master Jon is proud of him. It’s most likely he is disappointed—Maul is far from being an exemplary Jedi. Technically, he should be neither proud nor disappointed. Technically, he should have let him go the moment his Padawan ascended Knighthood. Maul thinks he did but he is not certain. He himself hasn’t let go of his Master—sadly, that much is certain.

“Thank you,” Maul says. He does not let his voice waiver, hides any traces of emotions and yet Schutta fidgets in his seat, barely stopping himself from coming closer. Master Windu does not reply nor does he acknowledge his answer. He cuts the transmission and lets Maul stand on his own.

He doesn’t move for a while. He stays in the cockpit, facing the now inactive holopod and breathes. He closes his eyes when Schutta puts his arms around his shoulders, squeezes his chest and lets his arms dangle over it. He feels him scratch his chin with one of his horns and sigh.

“You need to shave,” he mutters. His Sergeant only grunts in acknowledgment. The doors of the lift open, welcoming the other three in the cockpit. His Commander doesn’t wait before embracing them both, purposely blocking Maul between them.

“Mesh’la,” he grumbles without heat. “Let me breathe.”

“Sorry,” his Commander says and he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Every time I see an opportunity to hug you, all reasonable thoughts fly out the _Windu_ , sir.” He squeezes before releasing him, takes off his helmet and lets his eyes wander over his face.

“Speak,” his Commander says and Maul feels Schutta tense behind him. He looks at Stat and Dogma, seated next to each other, looking at him with expectation in their eyes and averts his gaze, staring at the pilot’s seat.

“They are sending me to Nar Shaddaa,” he says, opting for diplomacy rather than confrontation, “And I want to go.” He feels Schutta’s grip on his chest tighten. “I’m sure I can find someone at Kanata’s who needs to go ther—”

“No,” Schutta growls. Maul closes his mouth in shock. When his Sergeant does not elaborate, he tries not to tense.

“If you go, we all go,” Stat says. He thinks his arms are crossed over his chest. He is not sure; he is still not looking at any of them. “We’re in this together,” he clears his throat. “We wouldn’t stand a karking chance against him without you, as it is.”

Maul closes his eyes. They’re supposed to make the decision together. And yet, he knows they aren’t; they’re following him. They don’t really have a choice. He should say something. He has the choice to refuse the mission. He doesn’t have to go to Nar Shaddaa—the Council can send someone else.

And yet.

Maul wants to go. He _has to go_ ; he feels it. The Force is calling him there. He knows he has to go there. It’s one step closer to Eredenn Prime—he can feel it. He’s already made up his mind. He’s merely trying to convince them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and he is. They’re supposed to be equal in this. They’re supposed to fight together—as brothers. His throat closes up.

“I know you are,” Stat replies. There’s no heat, no accusation in his voice. He gets up and rattles their bracers together but he doesn’t tap his forehead with his own. Maul still has his eyes closed when Stat steps into the lift. Schutta releases him without saying anything and Maul knows he is going to the lower deck as well with Dogma on his trail.

His Commander is the only one who stays.

“You cannot win every time,” Mesh’la tells him. _I know,_ he wants to say. _I am a Jedi; I am not supposed to win or lose._

Grief and loss cannot be compared from one being to another. What may constitute a tremendous loss for one may not for another. 

They all lost someone. It is, after all, war; loss is an unfortunate part of it that they cannot avoid. Stat, however, is the only one who has lost everyone he grew up with. He has lost all of Bravo Squad on Ryloth, has seen countless of brothers die in the Rimsoo on Mimban and even more on Kaliida Shoals. Schutta has lost Ponds but still has Neyo, or at least a shadow of what he used to be. Mesh’la is very fond of Fordo and, even though he would never admit it, he is still profoundly attached to Alpha and Ordo Skirata. Dogma perhaps understands Stat’s loss more than they ever could; contrary to them, he has been in a squad and has served in a company. He never talks about the 501st; Maul has seen his dossier, has an inkling as to why he doesn’t. Schutta has definitely taken him under his wing, has dubbed him _Vod’ika_ and decided he would act as his guardian even if Dogma himself does not want him to. There’s no doubt, however, that Dogma and Stat became close from the get go and that they are each other’s closest brother in their squad. It would be simplistic to say they grew close because they could relate; after all, they all can, to an extent. It helped matters, that much is certain, but Maul thinks it may have been something else as well. 

Stat never talks about Er’Kit, none of them does, but, if he ever did, Maul has no doubt Dogma would be the one he would talk to. Both of them are more aloof than Schutta and Mesh’la; they are not as expressive in their affections and they are more reserved but he has no doubt they feel just as much.

_I know you are,_ Stat said. He knows Maul is sorry and he knows why he is.

He is a Jedi. He will always be or, at least, he will always put his faith in the Force. His allegiance is to the Force and always will be. Even at the cost of their squad.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try,” Maul says. He opens his eyes. Mesh’la stares at him for a long moment and he can feel the swirl of emotions going through him—the deep, breaking waves of loyalty, resignation and protectiveness. He feels like the ocean surrounding Tipoca City; encompassing, untamable, fearful and reassuring.

“So stubborn,” his Commander mutters. He sighs heavily. “Of all the _Jetiise_ , I had to get stolen by the most stubborn. I couldn’t get a nice, polite one.” When Maul doesn’t reply and simply stares at him, he shakes his head. “See? There you go. Why does a bastard like Neyo get Mace Windu and I get stubbornness seasoned with persistence?”

“You don’t even like Master Windu,” Maul says. Mesh’la snorts but does not contradict him.

  
  
  
  
  


They split up as soon as _Scimitar_ lands on Nar Shaddaa. Maul puts on his cloak and wanders aimlessly through the skyslums of Hutta Town before approaching the rendezvous point. He can sense Mesh’la at the edge of his mind, can get a glimpse of Mandalorian armour out of the corners of his eyes from time to time. Schutta was the first in the Corellian Sector, scouting around the location Vos’ source has given them as a meeting place. Maul hasn’t received any communication from him yet so he wanders around. He steps foot in the Sector, looks at the casinos and bars flashing with neon signs and promises of a good time. His comm beeps.

“I have eyes on Vos’ source. I think I’ve made one member of his retinue,” Schutta says. He sounds tense. “You won’t like it, sir.”

“Who is it,” Mesh’la asks before Maul can reply. He throws a glance at the roofs and—second, on the right. His helmet catches the light of the neon above his head. He tilts it towards his direction. Maul looks away. Schutta’s end stays suspiciously silent.

“Sergeant?” he prompts. He’s too far away to try to sense him but the temptation is here. Schutta opens his end but doesn’t speak right away. Maul keeps walking but he is getting worried.

“It’s Aurra Sing, sir.”

Maul stills. Not for long but he does. Dark Woman’s failed apprentice. A Jedi Hunter _._ Of course Vos wouldn’t tell them about this. He doesn’t even want to know _why_ she is working for Vos’ source. Maul isn’t an idiot; they’ve both worked undercover in more or less the same circles. Their contacts are far from being innocent—he’s worked with Cad Bane more times than he would like to admit and Gardulla Besadii is infamously soft on one of his covers.

Aurra Sing, however. This is someone Maul would try to avoid, if left with the choice. He clenches his jaw but keeps moving.

He knows Stat went elsewhere to restock their supplies and Dogma stayed put as backup. He knows Schutta will be perched somewhere ready to shoot if needed and Mesh’la will not be close enough to blow his cover. They won't be anywhere near her. It will have to do.

He walks down a narrow alley illuminated by neon signs. He sees people laughing and talking among themselves in front of drinking establishments and casinos. He feels a hand sneak around his elbow, gently pulling him on the side. He turns his head slowly, looks at the Zeltron and cocks his head. She’s leaning on the wall, next to the entrance of a lavish bar. She’s not a hostess—her clothes are too luxurious, the jewelry adorning her neck too precious. Most likely a patron.

“What are you?” she asks while brushing a hand on the scarf covering half of his face. She grins and lets out a delighted laugh. Her glove is delicate and expensive, a stark contrast to his own apparel. He does not look like a vagrant—it would be too suspicious considering the level he is. It’s not the level where the richest are entertained but it is far from being the skyslums. He definitely looks shoddy compared to her, however. “I bet you’re strong!”

He can smell the fiery scent of Starshine Surprises on her breath. He doesn’t sense any malice coming from her—mostly curiosity, drunken interest, a subtle hint of arousal. He relaxes and lets her pull him closer. Those who wander in these streets are all looking for a good time; it would be far more suspicious to outright reject her.

She puts her hand on his skin, tries to get it past his hood and gasps when she grazes a horn. He takes her hand in his own, puts a single digit on his covered lips and she giggles in delight. He draws her closer, puts a gloved hand in her hair and, when he’s about to suggest to her mind to forget him, he abruptly stops. Inside the bar, sitting at the counter, he can see someone with twin lightsaber hilts on their belts. He looks at the figure and he knows who she is even before seeing her face.

There, sitting at the counter of a splashy bar in the Corellian Sector of Nar Shaddaa, is the Nightsister Asajj Ventress, Dooku’s former assassin.

And she’s looking right back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a (mandoa.org)  
> \- beskar’gam: armor; in context, Mandalorian armor  
> \- tat: brother, sister, mate in the Concordian dialect  
> \- jorhaa’i: talk, speak  
> \- shu'shuk: disaster; in context, Schutta’s nickname  
> \- ke viini: run!; in context, a game  
> \- goran: blacksmith, metalworker  
> \- Cuy’val Dar: those who no longer exist; the original trainers handpicked by Jango Fett to train the clones before the First Battle of Geonosis  
> \- Resol'nare: Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life ("Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive")  
> \- vod’ika: little brother; in context, Dogma’s nickname
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- Kwosnyee: Grey  
>   
>   
>   
> WILD VENTRESS APPEARED!  
> Go! MAUL!  
> What will MAUL do?  
> ▶ FIGHT BAG  
>  Vodé RUN


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you ever hear the Tragedy of Vianna D'Pow? I thought not. It's not a story the Jedi would tell you. It's a bounty hunter legend. Vianna D’Pow was a minor comic book character from the Dark Horse era, so tragic and so badass she could use her awesomeness to influence my childhood self to love minor characters no one cares about...  
> Filoni doesn’t own my life. I lied. Lucas did and now Disney does hahahaha like anything else in the world really hahahah a h a h a

Maul doesn’t curse but it’s a near thing.

The Zeltron is talking to him, her hands sneaking past his vest but he does not pay attention to her.

What are the chances of Aurra Sing and Asajj Ventress both being in the Corellian Sector of Nar Shaddaa at the same time?

Slim to none if it is a coincidence, he thinks, but it can still be a possibility.

“Forgive me, darling,” he says distractedly and puts his hands around the Zeltron’s wrists. She stops giggling and looks at him confused. He extracts himself and appeases her mind, sending soft suggestions to forget him. She shakes her head, blinks and goes away. Ventress keeps her eyes on him. He senses the moment his Commander identifies the former Sith assassin, alarms ringing in his mind. 

When he feels the end of a heavy blaster on his back, it is too late. He stills. The Zeltron distracted him and he never sensed the threat. He feels fingers at the edge of his hood and lips on his ear. He stays calm. A soft breath prickles his skin where it’s vulnerable in the open air and he stops himself from reacting when she speaks.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” she whispers and Maul’s hearts beat faster. He never thought he would hear her voice again. “You? A _Jedi_?” It’s impossible. She can’t know that. He never thought—

“Vianna—”

“ _Quiet_ ,” she snaps between clenched teeth. She pushes on the blaster. Ventress rises from her stool and walks slowly towards them.

He could call his saberstaff to his hands. He could throw Vianna away but he knows better than that. They are in the entrance of a crowded bar with people entirely unaware of the danger they are in. She won’t hesitate to use them as an incentive. Ventress passes near them, raises one finger and points to where Mesh’la is hiding. She then goes deeper into the bar, towards a closed door. Vianna moves her head and pushes him forward. “Tell him to back off,” she says, “Or I kill every single person in this place.”

He clenches his jaw. He could stop her before she does any damage but Ventress will be more complicated. They both turn towards Mesh’la and he nods slowly. After confirmation, his Commander backs away and leaves the bar.

Maul puts a finger on his Hush-98 and discreetly lets his end of the comm open. Vianna sneaks her other hand around his waist and leads him towards the room Ventress went in. He lets her. It is a trap. He has no doubt about it but there are too many people here and he doesn’t have much of a choice.

The room is designed like a private booth, with close to no space between the central table and the banquette seatings. Ventress is smacked right in the middle, her body facing the door. Maul sees the glint of her lightsaber hilts. He knows she favours Jar’Kai. There is not enough space for her combat style; if they fight, Vianna would not be able to defend herself. He has an inkling Ventress knows it perfectly well. He lets Vianna frisk him, take the vibroblade, his saberstaff and the DC-17 without making a fuss. She pushes him to sit down and he complies. She sits on the opposite side, her blaster pointed at him. She stares at his saber with disgust then turns her eyes on him. He’s thrown off. He senses her anger and her betrayal; it’s both old and renewed. It’s been a decade since he last saw her.

His first mission as a Knight had been… tumultuous, would be the word. He was left to his own devices, without Master Jon shadowing him. He infiltrated the Bondsman’s Guild on Tatooine to free slaves from the hands of Jabba the Hutt. Under the cover of a ruthless Iridonian looking for a way to get into the Guild, Maul met Vianna D’Pow—his first test as a Jedi Knight.

She used to tie her hair into a bun. She used to smile at him with viciousness and ferocity. He remembers one evening, when the Twins of Tatooine would finally go down, taking the ribbon out of her hair, letting her jet black locks spill onto her bony-white shoulders, the press of her lips against his after defeating a Krayt dragon. She wore her uniqueness like a crown, _the only albino Zeltron in the galaxy,_ would flaunt her white skin and black hair when Maul took great pain to hide his markings and anything that could make him more noticeable than he already was. _You are beautiful, Vianna D’Pow,_ he remembers whispering on her skin.

When he completed his mission, he left without saying goodbye and never saw her again. 

“Take off the scarf,” Vianna says sharply. Her purple eyes betray no emotions. Maul obeys silently. She makes a gesture for his hood and he complies. His eyes settle on Ventress when he hears her laugh.

“A _Nightbrother,_ ” she sneers. “Well, isn’t that a surprise.”

He bows his head respectfully. “Lady Ventress,” he says. She raises an eyebrow at his tone.

“If I knew I’d see the day,” she chuckles. “A _Nightbrother_ raised by _Jedi._ How uncanny.”

“Well,” he replies calmly, “It is a big galaxy, I must say. Tell me—How is Count Dooku, these days? Do you catch up sometimes?”

He sees her bare her teeth and smiles politely. He doesn’t show it but he feels a bit unbalanced. He assumed he would feel the pulls of the dark side coming from Ventress in the same way he felt them when he went to Naboo a couple of years before. Naboo still reeks of it. Maul feels her strong presence in the Force but it isn’t inherently… _dark._ He wonders if this is what Dathomirians feel like, when they dabble on the dark side but do not embrace it like the Sith do. He wouldn’t know; the only Dathomirians he felt in the Force were the Sith brothers Savage and Feral Opress.

“You know,” Vianna says, ignoring the tension in the room, “I never expected to see _Scimitar,_ uncloaked, in a refueling station on Nar Shaddaa. Imagine my surprise when we saw a _clone_ get out of it.”

Maul feels his muscles tense. _Stat._ He takes great care not to clench his fist.

“Vianna,” he prompts. “What did you do?”

Both women narrow their eyes at him. Ventress speaks first. “Wouldn’t you like to know, _Nightbrother,_ ” she sneers. It sounds like an insult. It must be, coming from her. She grins. “Your little soldier is safe.”

“What do you want,” he asks. Ventress looks at him with contempt in her eyes. He expected it. It isn’t as off-putting as he thought. Vianna’s blank look, however. She used to let all her emotions play on her face.

“A distraction,” Vianna says. “We need to lull someone into a false sense of security. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. He does not react. When he met her, Vianna was trying to get into the Guild; she was fierce and formidable. He remembers getting in her fight with her and growling in frustration. Unable to use the Force lest he blew his cover, he had to fight dirty to have the advantage over her. When he did, backing her up against a wall with a hand on her throat, she kicked him right in the stomach and laughed with her entire being. She pushed him hard on the ground, his back breaking a chair in half and he felt overwhelmed by her pure, unadulterated happiness at winning. He just stared at her, smiled and said _we should do this again sometime_. 

“What if I say no?” he asks.

He has memories of her purple eyes staring at him like she could not believe he existed, the private laugh she gave him everytime he made a dry comment and her fingers tracing mindless patterns on his face. During his last night on Tatooine, when she kissed him, tore off his tunic and put her hands on his chest, he remembers telling her _No_ , putting space between them and seeing the look of confusion on her face. _You don’t want me?_ she asked and it was the first time he saw her being self-conscious. _It’s not that_ , he said. _I can’t_ , he wanted to say, _I’m a Jedi, Vianna_ , but he didn’t. He could see the hurt on her face, could _feel_ it and he hated himself for it. She sobbed, told him to get out and he did. The day after, he stole _Scimitar_ from their dead bounty and flew away with freed slaves looking for a new home. He never saw her again.

Ventress chuckles.

“I start killing off people in this bar until you say yes,” she says. “Then I kill your little soldier. He’s a loyal thing, you know? Wouldn’t say a word. I had to get creative.”

He feels fury rising in his chest and rises from his seat. Ventress grins and holds her lightsabers with clear intent. He sits back, jaw clenching, and releases his emotions through the Force.

“Show me,” he demands.

Vianna places a bounty puck on the table. The hologram of a Mirialan appears. The tattoo on his forehead associates him with the Black Sun. What picks his curiosity is the fact that the bounty was placed by this specific criminal syndicate. They want his head and are ready to pay a considerably high sum for it.

“Why would you need my help?” he asks sincerely. Surely Ventress can take on a Black Sun defector by herself.

“That little weasel bought himself quite the mercenary protection,” the Nightsister says in frustration. “Aurra Sing guards him.”

Maul stops himself from groaning. The chances of Asajj Ventress and Aurra Sing being on Nar Shaddaa on unrelated businesses were, indeed, too low to be true. Which means that the Mirialan must be Vos’ source. He wants to scoff. Of course Vos wouldn’t tell them who _exactly_ his source was. 

This is not ideal. Fighting Ventress and Vianna would be too risky and there is little chance now of him meeting his source without them finding out. He could use the pretense of distracting Sing as a valid reason for his meeting but he doesn’t like it. 

“I want to know my man is safe,” he says through gritted teeth. Ventress smiles.

“Don’t worry, Nightbrother. We’re taking very good care of him.” She bares her teeth when he glares at her. Vianna shifts, gaining his attention. Her eyes focus on his face, searching. His hearts flip treacherously. 

“You’re not surprised,” she muses. “You already knew about her being here, didn’t you?” She scoffs. “Let me guess. They’re here because of you— _he_ ’s here because he has business with _you_.”

He could deny it, even lie about it. It’s too much of a risk with Stat on the line. He grimaces. His Commander is not going to like it.

“Suppose you’re right,” he says conversationally, sweeping his eyes over the room. “We could either fight or help each other out.” His Commander is really not going to like this. “I only need information. What happens afterwards is not my concern,” he concludes reluctantly. War makes strange bedfellows.

“What guarantees do we have that you won’t double-cross us as soon as you can?” Ventress asks with a pointed eyebrow.

“None,” he replies. They must be desperate if they’re allying themselves to him. With any chance, they’re desperate enough. He doesn’t say anything and waits for them to decide on their own. They don’t trust him–as much as he doesn’t trust _them_ –but they’re considering it, which means they don’t have much of a choice. How ironic.

“Fine,” Vianna snaps. He stops himself from smiling. “We’ve got your clone. Don’t you forget that, _Jedi._ ”

They discuss the terms of their arrangement and Maul tries to stay calm and steady himself. He is good at concealing his signature in the Force–Master Jon made sure of that–but he did not think Ventress would rival him. He never sensed her, never had an inkling she was here before it was too late. 

He leaves the bar and feels their eyes follow him. He can’t shake them off—not until Stat is safe. He takes his Hush-98 in hand and contacts Schutta. 

“Already on it,” is the fast reply. “I got Bodee with me and Dogma has Evah.” He lets himself relax a bit. They’ll find Stat quickly enough. Maul has no doubt about it. 

He glances briefly at the skies. He feels his Commander’s presence nearby but cannot see him. It is probably for the best but Maul would like visual confirmation of his well being. They don’t have time for it, unfortunately, so he settles on feeling him in the Force. Mesh’la is focused and still, like he always is when his instincts tell him everything could go sideways more quickly than they would expect. 

“ _Jate, alor_ ,” his Commander chastises. “I’m already inside.”

Maul walks into the cantina, brushes against one of the Devaronian bouncers and stops himself from scowling. It is definitely not as lavish as the bar Ventress and Vianna were in. This one does not cater to the same clientele. It’s not what annoys him, however.

The Twi’lek dancers on center stage are the main entertainment. The whole room has been made with that in mind. There is no cover. If she’s here–and he is sure she already is–Sing saw him the moment he walked in. He checks the place out. He can’t see her nor can he sense her nearby. He’s not surprised; he does not expect less from a Jedi hunter. He catches a glimpse of beskar and sees Mesh’la smacked right in front of the stage, a glass of Jawa Juice with a straw in hand and subtly flirting with a Duro who seems more interested in him than the entertainment. The Twi’leks undulate and lure clients towards them, their smiles radiant but their minds elsewhere.

Maul sets himself at the furthest corner of the counter, far from the exit. He knows they’ll find him soon enough. The Trandoshan on the other side of the bar nods in acknowledgement but does not extract himself from his conversation with one of the patrons. Maul narrows his eyes and lets the hood fall lower on his face in a subtle move. He takes off his scarf, puts his back on the counter and takes another look at the room. There are not many people but, considering the hour, it’s not unusual. The rush in this kind of establishment comes after oh dark thirty. Most of the patrons have hosts hanging around them and pay him no mind. There’s a slythmonger selling death sticks to a Weequay in one corner. No traces of Aurra Sing or the Mirialan. 

One of the hosts approaches him and sits. The Human has fiery hair and a defiant glint in her eyes. She puts a finger on his arm, not enough for him to feel through the fabric but enough to be suggestive.

“Hey, stranger,” she says in a sultry voice. He lets his eyes wander over her face, deliberately trailing down her body. Her smile is exquisite. “Want some company?”

“I can get convinced,” he replies, plays the part; he softens his accent and lets light catch his face. She is subtle but her smile freezes for an instant. He laughs low in his chest. “What do you propose?”

Her smile turns mischievous but her eyes are calculating. Maul hums. Something is amiss. She went to him first, even though there are clients on their own who wear trinkets double the price of his whole outfit. He pushes himself off the counter, takes a step and puts himself in front of her, almost touching. Sure enough, the Trandoshan at the counter tenses but does not look at him. One of the Devaronian bouncers shifts. They all avoid looking towards his direction. The Human lightly brushes a hand on his shoulder and smiles, trying to hide the fear he can sense coming from her. He smirks. He hates himself for it but he must play the part. He weaves his way into her space, too close for comfort and lets his lips hover over one of her ears. He huffs a laugh and stops himself from backing down when she flinches. 

“I think we all know why I’m really here,” Maul whispers. He puts the hilt of his vibroblade over her ribs. “You can stop pretending and tell Bossk to come say hi.”

It’s instantaneous; the Trandoshan draws his infamous mortar gun on him and the Human tenses. The whole cantina falls silent. “You want a drink? I could kill for a Jet Juice,” Maul says to the Human. He fakes a laugh when he sees her trembling. “How does a Tatooine Sunburn sound?” He backs down, slowly puts the vibroblade back in its sheath and raises his hands. The Trandoshan finally comes over them and, when he’s close enough, Maul smiles. 

“Your reputation precedes you, Bossk,” he says amicably. 

“Can’t say the same for you,” the bounty hunter sneers. The Human lowers down her weapon. Slowly, clients go back to their businesses. Mesh’la is still talking to the Duro but Maul can sense he will not hesitate to intervene if he thinks he should. A drink is pushed on his side of the counter. It’s not Jet Juice. Twi’lek liquor, he would guess. He grimaces and hands her the glass. “For your nerves,” he says and takes notice of how all the bounty hunters tense at the motion. He huffs. “Take me to your boss.”

She looks at him with fear disguised as anger but does not say anything. She walks to Bossk and goes to the porthole swinging door behind the counter. The Devaronians settle themselves on each side of it. Bossk gestures at him with his gun to go ahead. Maul shrugs and puts the glass down. He takes a couple of steps, Bossk right behind him, nods to the Devaronians and pushes the door open.

*

“Something is wrong.”

Rex opens his eyes and he’s halfway off the bed before he can even question what the kark is going on. Maul jumps off the top bunk and suddenly Rex is met with the very close proximity of his bare torso. The blacks are very low on his hips. He doesn’t seem to have hairs. Uh. 

“I can’t sense Mesh’la anymore,” the Jedi says and the words set Rex immediately on high alert. He does not sound anxious, mostly confused. He stumbles to the closed door and puts a hand on it.

“On the ship?” Stat asks, jumping from the top bunk. He puts an arm around the Jedi’s shoulder to steady him. Maul shakes his head.

“I can’t—I can’t sense him at all.” He puts a hand on one of his horns. “I can’t sense anyone except us.”

“ _Fierfek_ ,” Stat spits and, before Rex can comprehend what’s happening, the medic sits Maul next to him on the bed and goes to open the door. Nothing happens. “What the kriff?” Rex goes to stand up but freezes when he feels Maul’s hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” the Jedi says and he pushes him back on the bed. His stomach flips at that but he doesn’t move. Maul raises his other hand in what Rex recognizes as _Jetiise_ doing _Jetii_ things. “There’s something behind. I think the door’s magnetically sealed.”

“But we’re earthbound. I can still feel the high-G,” Stat says, tapping his foot on the floor. He opens to the control panel and taps on it. Apart from a glaring red light on it, nothing changes. “Override, Stat.” Still red light. “Override, Stoopa.” Still red light. “Karking Schutta. Did that karking kriffer change my name again? Override, Stupid.” Red light. “ _Override_ , CT-27-3555.” The light shuts out. He puts his fist on the door. “Kark. _Scimitar_ locked me out of the system.” 

“Override, Maul.” Red light. The hand on Rex’s shoulder clenches. “Override, _alor_.” Red light. “Override—wait. What is my codename again?”

“ _Mir’sheb_ , I think. Or Small.”

“At least he can’t say something in Shyriiwook,” Maul mumbles. “Override, Mir’sheb.” Red light. Maul scowls and shakes his head. “Override, Small.” Red light. “I’m not even small.”

“You kind of are, sir,” Stat comments. He sighs in frustration. “I think no matter what you’re going to say, it won’t work.”

Maul massages his forehead as if fighting a migraine. Rex breathes again. He can still feel his hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head to clear it, gets up and walks to the control panel.

“Will you be mad if I break it?” Rex asks, accessing the underside of the panel, fingers already on the wires.

“I should do it. Schutta will be annoyed,” Maul says. Rex sees Stat quickly going to the bunk on the corner of his eye. He pays him no mind. He’s no slicer but he can open a door manually when needed. 

“Still some side effects from the high-G shot?” Stat asks in what Rex recognizes as the voice medics use when they are trying to assess the damage. He takes out wires from their sockets and starts short-circuiting the system. Hopefully the door won’t lock them in. The wires sparkle once, twice, three times then the door unlocks and opens. The magseal is still standing, locking them in. 

“Can you do your thing?” Rex turns back at Stat’s words, confused. He realizes belatedly he wasn’t the one addressed. Maul stands up and closes his eyes. He raises his hand and Rex steps away from the door. The magseal flickers then dies down. Stat doesn’t waste time; he goes out straight to the engineering access chamber. Maul is out right after him, heading to the lift. They both went out in their blacks. If there’s trouble rising, they’re completely unarmed. Rex shakes his head and puts on his shell as fast as the motions have been drilled into him. Stat comes back not even a half minute after with a scowl on his face. “The speeders are missing and the babes are all gone.”

Kark. He checks the other sleeping compartment. No one. Their armors are missing. Before he can say anything, they hear Maul’s voice resonating through the ship’s speakers. “You need to come up here. Both of you,” he says and his voice betrays no emotion. Stat curses and goes to the lift, still in his blacks. Rex follows him without a second thought.

The upper deck’s empty except for Maul and Rex’s fists clench. That’s not good. Why the kark would his men all go out? Why would they let Jesse go? Maul gestures for them to join him to the holopod. He’s trying to contact his men. None of them respond despite the short-range comm system appearing to be functional. 

“Dogma, respond,” Maul says for the fifth time. There’s only static following. “Sergeant, respond.” No answer. Rex doesn’t wait for permission; he checks the logs and looks for the latest activities. Last one was one standard hour ago. Why didn’t they hear anything? He plays the latest audio entry. It’s a droid. Rex has no idea what it’s saying. He knows enough Binary to understand General Skywalker’s astromech but this is no Binary. He has no idea what language that is. He takes the pad he left on his seat and looks for a transcript.

< DRK-1-3V4 disconnected. Latest transmission: [Audio] BASE: 00:27:38. >

“Play it,” Rex says and is met with that weird language again before he is given a transcript.

< ACCESS DENIED // AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED >

Go figure. He looks at Stat but the medic seems preoccupied by whatever he is watching on his pad. Maul is still trying to comm his squad.

“Sir,” Rex prompts and he doesn’t let himself look at anything but Maul’s face. He has yet to put on clothes. The Jedi’s eyes set on him and suddenly his brain can’t seem to figure out he needs to breathe. He hands him the datapad and feels like he can breathe again when the Jedi stops looking at him. Maul’s mouth twists in concentration. He types on the pad and swipes up so that what he’s doing is transmitted on the pod. The hologram of a probe droid appears.

“Where are your siblings? Where’s Evah?” Maul asks and Rex frowns. Who’s Evah? The droid emits strange beeps–what he can guess is its reply–and a holomap appears next to it with two red dots blinking. They are both within a 7-kilometer radius of the Separatist base. “Show me Bodee’s feed,” the Jedi says and the holopod shows a video recording of the Commander and Echo. _Halt_ , the former signs. They crouch.

_Do you hear that,_ the Commander whispers.

_Hear what, sir,_ Echo replies. They don’t move. The Commander turns his gaze at what must be the droid recording. He stays silent for a while. The Commander signs something Rex does not understand. Echo shifts. The other man fidgets and taps on his cuisse, agitated. He shakes his head. _Follow me,_ he says and they stand up. They start walking and the recording pauses. Rex looks at Maul’s raised hand. His fingers make a circling motion. He’s still wearing gloves. Are his hands tattooed?

“Rewind, 10 seconds.” The hologram complies. “Slow down, 1.5.” Maul narrows his eyes and bends slightly over the pod. He brushes a hand over his mouth, lets it go down his chin and settle on his throat. Rex thinks his heart might make a run for it. The Jedi shakes his head. “This isn’t good.”

“Sir?” Stat asks. He’s still clutching the holopad tightly. Maul does not look at any of them. He sighs.

“I think he was hearing someone who wasn’t there,” he points to the Commander’s hand tapping on his cuisse. “Right there. He’s tapping A-R-C-7-7. He’s decoding a distress signal from Captain Fordo.”

“What?” Stat frowns. “You mean that’s tac signals?” Maul nods.

“Dadita—it’s a Mandalorian code. Skull Leader taught me and Mesh’la learnt it from the _Cuy'val Dar_.” He threads his fingers together in front of his stomach. Rex doesn’t look at them. There’s too much… skin. “I doubt Fordo and the Muunilinst 10 are on planet, which means he was hearing voices.” He nods again and the hologram moves. The two men walk and, after a while, the Commander stops abruptly, Echo on his toes. 

_Bodee, contact Goatee._ The droid beeps. It must be Bodee. _Send a transcript. I’m en route_ , the Commander dictates calmly. _Echo is compromised._ In a flurry of quick movement, the Commander disarms the ARC, and puts him in a headlock before he can react. He takes off his helmet and squeezes until the ARC stops moving and passes out. Rex’s blood boils. He draws his pistols and aims at the other two people in the room, taking a step back. He’s the only one armed but one of them is a weapon on his own _._

“Do _not_ try your Jedi mind trick again,” he says through gritted teeth. The hologram shows the Commander putting Echo’s helmet back in place, with the distinct click of the lock. He hoists him up his shoulder and turns towards the droid.

_I’m sorry, baby, but it’s past curfew,_ he says and the hologram shuts down abruptly. The droid appears back again in lieu of the recording and beeps erratically. Neither Maul nor Stat avert their gazes from him.

“It’s alright, Kesso,” Maul says and Rex thinks this must be the droid’s name. “It’s just a misunderstanding. Captain Rex is a friendly.” The droid turns to him and beeps again. He can hear the menace even if he doesn’t understand him. Rex doesn’t budge.

“Misunderstanding,” he says, fingers on the triggers. That’s the understatement of the century. He adjusts his aim when the medic moves. Stat raises his hands and points at the holopad. “Echo didn’t seem _compromised_ to me,” Rex states.

“I think you should watch this, sir,” the medic tells him carefully. “It’s a recording from the medbay. No one has access to it but me.” Rex blinks. Slowly, the medic taps on the pad until a hologram appears on the pod. It’s Fives and the Sergeant.

_We can’t turn on Deebee. Stat’ll know if we do and he’ll be a kriffing pest,_ the Sergeant says, voice low. Fives nods silently. His hand is bleeding profusely. The other man cleans the wound and applies bacta with the efficiency of a brother who’s been drilled into doing this again and again until his medic was satisfied with the result. Fives’ comm beeps. He puts on his helmet. _Everything alright?_ The Sergeant asks. Fives nods then tackles him to the ground in a silent move Rex taught him. He puts a hand on his mouth and blocks him completely, waiting for him to stop moving. 

“Timestamp concurs with the Commander’s, sirs,” the medic states.

“They’re working together?” Maul asks, eyes still on Rex. He seems calm, not angry or afraid—just calm. His hands are raised but there’s little doubt it makes him harmless. He’s not tense at all. At least, none of his upper body muscles are. The markings seem to expand with each breath he takes. Rex freezes when the Jedi looks down at his own chest then back at him, cocking his head in confusion. Kark. He needs to focus.

Fives shakes the seemingly unconscious Sergeant a bit, testing responsiveness. Satisfied the man is out, he pushes him off him and sighs. _You’re gonna be a ray of sunshine when you wake up, I bet._ He gets up and freezes when they hear _Where’s the vacc tube_. There’s a tense silence following. _Whoa!_ Jesse says out of the shot. _Thank you, sir._

“You opened the door for him,” Rex says. “Used the Force.” In an incredibly lazy way, he doesn’t add. Maul stares at him, abashed.

“I did?” At Rex’s nod, he shakes his head slowly. “I don’t remember.”

“Did you do the magic hand thing because you were too lazy to get up?” Stat asks, voice dripping with sarcasm and disappointment. Only medics know how to do that. Must be the first thing they’re trained to do, seeing how they’re all good at it. Even good-natured, soft, gentle Kix uses it when Rex tries to escape the med bay unnoticed. He uses it less than the 212th medic, who’s a downright bastard, though.

_Whatcha doing up,_ vod _?_ Jesse asks and Fives shakes his head. He motions at him to come closer. Dread rises in Rex’s chest. The former appears as a hologram and looks at the Sergeant on the ground. _What the kar—_ Fives twists him the same way he blocked the other brother before he can finish his sentence. Jesse shouts behind his hand and struggles for a couple of seconds but Fives is strong. He passes out and is pushed on the side next to the Sergeant. Fives gets up, looks at them but stays silent. After a moment, he leaves.

Stat clenches his jaw. “There’s more.”

Fives comes back with Dogma. _He woke him up_ , the former says pointing to Jesse. _The Commander will be there shortly. Help me out with them._ The latter nods and they each take a brother and hoist them on their shoulders. _Wait,_ Dogma whispers. _We need to lock them in. If he woke up, the Tranqarest will get out of his system more quickly._

_I’ll magseal the door while you take care of Tup,_ Fives replies. After that, the holopod gives way to the droid’s hologram.

Rex puts his Deeces back in their holsters, jaw clenched. What the kark happened? The Jedi exchanges a silent nod with him. Slowly, both men put their hands down.

“Mesh’la probably drugged me when he gave me water,” Maul sighs. “It’s probably why I feel like I’ve had an entire bottle of Twi’lek liquor.”

“Tranquarest?” Rex prompts. Stat is the one to answer.

“Sedative. Deadly for us but it’s enough to put him down if necessary,” he says, jerking his head at the Jedi. Rex tries not to react. General Skywalker would never agree to something this potent. He refuses most sedatives, painkillers and even stims. General Kenobi is the same and there’s little doubt Commander Tano will be as well. “It wasn’t high dosage if you could walk and talk like you did afterwards.”

“They just wanted me to be out for a couple of hours,” Maul says in agreement. “Whatever they planned, it started with Mesh’la, Dogma and Fives.” He shakes his head. “It makes no sense.”

“Your probe droids mapped out the region, right?” Rex asks. At the nods, he continues, “I need to see the land.”

“Kesso, Captain Rex is Level One until further notice. Come back to base and transcribe everything.”

A holographic transcription box appears in front of him. The droid is not visible anymore but beeps.

< Acknowledged, MIR’SHEB. Hello, REX. I am DRK-1-KSO. >

“Hello, Kesso,” he replies. He’s not going to comment on Maul’s name. “Can you confirm Goatee’s designation?”

< ARC-5555 was added under the codename GOATEE. >

“Thank you. I need to know if there are villages, temples or jungles nearby.” 

< Negative, REX. No settlements on a 600-km radius. The closest trading post is 563 km East. The natural salt pan has an area of 12,000 km² with a high concentration of lithium and neutronium. >

He was right, then. Nothing but salt. This means three things: one, he’s hallucinated an entire jungle; two, Fives and the Commander agree on what they saw and three—they were working together.

“Did you see villages or a temple?” He asks the other men. When they shake their heads, he frowns. “Dogma never confirmed if he saw anyone else out there, right?”

“No, sir,” Stat says. “What are you thinking?”

Rex puts his hands on the holopod and sighs. He looks at the map and grimaces.

“I think they’ve planned this before we arrived on the ship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- jate, alor: i’m alright, sir  
> \- mir’sheb: smartass; in context, Maul’s codename  
> \- Cuy’val Dar: those who no longer exist; the original trainers handpicked by Jango Fett to train the clones before the First Battle of Geonosis  
> Dadita is the mando equivalent of Morse code
> 
> I like to think Maul would be a pain in the ass of the Hutt Clan even if he didn’t lead his own plethora of cartels because that kidney bean is nothing if not persistent


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check this out—the wonderful [Sunja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunja/pseuds/Sunja) made [fan art](https://nevermindigotthis.tumblr.com/post/617982243435167744/so-this-wont-make-much-sense-in-the-context-of) and it is _glorious_!
> 
> Thank you all for reading (I honestly thought no one would because the level of crack in this ship is higher than yoda on dagobah) and for all the kudos and comments!

The Mirialan is sitting on the couch facing him, his feet propped up on a knee-high stool. The Human is sitting on his right while Aurra Sing is standing on his left. She has a slugthrower in hand. If she realises Maul’s a Jedi, this will end up in a bloodshed.

“Take a seat,” she says, gesturing with her gun to the only chair in the room. Its back is at the door, far enough from the Mirialan, close enough to the Human and in direct sight of Sing. At least, this room is bigger than the one he was with Vianna and Ventress. If he has to draw his saberstaff, he won’t be hindered. He sits. Bossk is right behind him.

“You're not the one we expected,” Aurra Sing says. Her voice is sharp and her Force signature feels like firebeetles devouring his skin. He ignores it.

“I wasn’t expecting _you_ and yet here we are,” he says placidly. He nods at the Mirialan and says, “You are aware there’s a very generous bounty on your head, yes?”

Sing’s eyes narrow. “Are you here to collect it?”

“No. This isn’t the job I was sent for,” he dismisses. If they had doubts about it then they don’t know he’s a Jedi. He still has the upper hand. He crosses his arms over his chest and feigns annoyance. “I believe you have valuable information to share. I haven’t made the trip to this wretched moon for _nothing_.”

The Mirialan laughs and throws his arms in a grand gesture. “Straight to business, I see. You must excuse them; they’re not paid to play nice.” He gets up and goes to the private bar behind the couch, his back at him. “Would you like a drink perhaps?”

“Why not,” he says with a casualness he doesn’t feel. “I asked for Jet Juice but this fine specimen here gave me some disgusting sludge.” The Mirialan raises a hand in warning before Bossk can reply. He begins to mix alcohols together with the precision of someone used to it, shaking and stirring with focus and concentration. He glances at Maul and smiles.

“What are you?”

Maul huffs. He pushes the hood up a bit and points to his horns. “I thought that’d be obvious. I mean, don’t get me wrong—Mom was Human so, technically, I’m not strictly carnivorous but—”

The Mirialan bursts into laughter. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” he comments with a grin. “I like them bold.” He takes the two cocktails and walks towards Maul. He hands him one glass and his fingers purposely brush his glove. The cocktail is red and fizzy. It smells like fruit. It’s not Jet Juice. “Bespin Fizz. Trust me, my friend, this one will please you,” he purrs, taking his fingers away after another subtle brush. The bounty puck does him a disservice; he is exceptionally handsome. There’s no doubt he knows it; he uses his beauty like a weapon. It’s not very different from what Mesh’la does. His face speaks of great care; his tattoos are pristine, his skin is glowing and his hair is silky. His hand, however, speaks of manual work—there are calluses and his nails are cropped short and sharpened for efficiency. There are scars on it, a stark contrast to his unblemished face.

Maul stays silent and makes a show of tasting his drink. He lets out a surprised hum; it’s actually very good. The Mirialan grins, pleased, and his eyes trail over Maul’s body, unashamed. Maul does not react. The Mirialan sits back on the couch, puts his feet back on a stool in a slow, deliberate motion and drinks his own cocktail.

“I am Aodh,” he declares. “Aodh Demesne. I thought I was going to see my good friend Seris, you know. Not that I’m disappointed. I think we could get along very well.”

“I believe you have valuable information to share,” he reiterates. The Mirialan’s eyes narrow for a fleeting moment. Aurra Sing stares at Maul with amusement.

“I do,” he replies. “It won’t be free.”

Maul takes a sip of his drink. “I’m listening.”

“I have money—enough to pay them double the price on my head,” he says, draping an arm over the Human’s shoulders. She stiffens but does not push him away. “What I want is protection.”

Maul snorts. He glances at Sing. “I think you already have it.”

The Mirialan laughs. “No, no, you misunderstand me. I want _yours_ ; I want the Republic’s protection.”

“You’re Black Sun,” he states. “The best protection the Republic will offer comes with you in a cell.”

“I was rather hoping for a nice little house on Naboo. I like their lakes, you know. They’re peaceful,” he chuckles. He brushes the Human’s hair absentmindedly and rumbles, “If I can get you as well, I’d be a very happy man. You’d look good spread on Cyrene silk sheets.”

He’s playing with him, he knows it. He’s trying to see how much he can get away with; it’s a dangerous game. He takes a slow gulp of his drink and licks the rim, eyes focused on him with cold calculation. Maul has a feeling this man always gets what he wants.

“We’re done,” he replies, standing up and leaving. When Bossk blocks his path, he glares. The Mirialan laughs in delight.

“Alright, alright, my friend. Sit down,” the Mirialan orders, all traces of humour gone. “What if I told you the blueprints I sent Seris were just the tip of the carbonberg?”

Maul tilts his head to the side but does not sit back down. Bossk subtly bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smirk. He exchanges an amused glance with the bounty hunter. The Trandoshan may be here for the pay but that’s about it. “I’m listening,” Maul says conversationally.

“I am Black Sun—well, I used to be,” he comments. “My family is _not_. My dear aunt Reeva is a formidable scientist. She used to work for the Republic until her transport dropped off the radar on the Altano Trade Route. I used to keep good relations between my employers and the Separatists—although, I promise you, I had a change of heart and only have eyes for the Republic now—and you would not believe how surprised I was when I received a transmission from Reeva, telling me she was forced to work for these awful beings. Naturally, I want to help her as much as I—”

“You said she’s a scientist,” Maul cuts him off. “What is she working on?”

“Can’t you guess? She knows a lot about energy generation, science stuff and these kinds of things,” he says, drawing a circle on his thigh with a finger. “She’s the reason that beast will be deadly _and_ impenetrable.”

“Where is she now?” 

“In a lab, I imagine,” the Mirialan answers cryptically. A grin slowly spreads across his face. He takes his feet off the stool and hands his drink to the Human, who takes it silently. Slowly, he zips off his jacket halfway and puts his hand inside, retrieving a recording rod. He places it on the stool. A still image appears in front of it. Maul tenses. It’s the weapon from the blueprints. They’ve already built it. “Would you like to see it in action?”

The Mirialan pushes on one of the control buttons and the image starts moving. Despite his expectations, the weapon is not a hulking machine, judging by the B1s standing next to it. It must stand at two point five meters, give or take a few decimeters. There is barely enough place to fit droids in it. From what he can gather, it is equipped with its own shield generator, similar to droidekas, and there’s something odd about it. He can’t put his finger on it until one of the B1s tries to pass through the shield while another starts firing on it. Neither can bypass it.

“It’s not simply ray-shielded,” he muses out loud. “They added a particle shield generator.” Why? The shields would have to be powered down every time they fire; droidekas have polarised shields but no one has been able to polarise particle ones. It would render the weapon completely defenseless at the most inopportune times. The Mirialan only points to the recording and Maul falls silent.

The weapon fires its three cannons simultaneously. Its shields stand.

“That’s impossible,” he says, disbelieving. “The laser cannons shouldn’t be able to pass through the particle shield.” The third cannon is something he has never seen before, nor the projectiles it fired, but its sheer power of destruction is alarming. The Mirialan turns the recording off and tosses him the rod with a sly smirk.

“Authentify it. It’s not sliced in any way,” he states. He looks at his hand, removing non-existent dirt underneath his fingernails. “This is highly-classified; everything’s done on site and no one goes in or out easily. The Republic could destroy that prototype and be done with it. Or you could claim the project to yourself.” He looks at Maul and there’s fire in his eyes, “Do you know who the chief scientist is?”

“Let me guess,” Maul says wryly. “It’s your aunt.”

“Pretty _and_ smart—I like that,” the Mirialan taunts. “My dear aunt Reeva is not a warmonger, you know. I believe she’s cooperating simply because she’s coerced or trying to keep people dear to her alive. If the Republic saved them all, I believe she would be very grateful. Well,” he says, chuckling, “Except if you decide to imprison her precious nephew who finally got away from that wretched criminal syndicate.”

“Oh? Is that why there’s a price on your head?”

“Among other things, yes,” he amends with a swat of his hand. “I’ve worked my cargo hold off for these guys, I wasn’t going to leave empty handed.” Considering the large sum on his head, he left with a lot of things. “She’s been leaking me information for a while now and I think we’ve gathered enough for you to pay attention. Of course, she knows how much I’m risking, running away from my captors to save her life. I’m afraid we’re a package deal,” he says ironically. 

Maul’s comm beeps. It’s Sisrai. He raises a hand to silence the Mirialan.

< STOOPA is safe. DI’KUT and JATNE VOD en route to BASE. ETA 13 standard minutes. >

Maul does not let relief overwhelm him. The other two must know by now that they don’t have a bargaining chip anymore. Sing points her slugthrower at him.

“Who are your friends?” 

“No one you should worry about,” he says calmly. He puts down his drink on the stool. “Asajj Ventress, on the other hand…”

“ _You bastard_ ,” she growls. Bossk draws his gun and flushes it at the back of his head. The Mirialan blinks at the sudden tension in the room.

“Who the kark is that?” He asks with confusion clear in his voice.

“She used to be Dooku’s assassin,” Sing answers through gritted teeth, her slugthrower aimed at his centre of mass. “She’s definitely not your average bounty hunter.”

“Funny,” Maul comments. “She said the same thing about you.” He crosses his arms, uncaring of the guns pointed at him. “I can’t let her take you,” he says conversationally, pointing his chin at the Mirialan. His eyes slide to Sing. “And you won’t get paid if she does. The conclusion should be obvious.”

“We could kill you and take our chances with someone else,” the Human snarls. “The Republic can spare a goon.”

“You may try but I don’t like your odds,” he remarks. At Sing’s scoff, he grins, teeth bared and lets out a dark chuckle. “Why do you think Ventress trusted me enough to distract you?”

It’s a subtle thing. For a single second, Aurra Sing hesitates. He doesn’t need more than that. He pushes her with the Force against the opposite wall and does the same for Bossk. The Human shouts but it’s too late; Maul already has her pistol in hand and knocks her out with it. In one quick motion, he brackets the Mirialan and pushes them both over the couch and flanks him behind it. He shoots the lights and calls his staff to his hand. Sing roars. 

“ _Jedi_ ,” she sneers.

Maul taps on his commlink. “Commander,” he says calmly, letting his accent untether and getting rid of the last sheds of his cover. “Now would be the perfect time.” 

Two blaster shots resonate. The Devaronians fall down on the ground, each with a burning hole on their backs. Mesh’la doesn’t step in; he takes cover before Sing can shoot him.

“We are not here for you,” Maul says. “If we go now, you will have time until Ventress arrives.”

“He doesn’t have the full data. The other half is in my ship,” she snaps. He stops himself from sighing. The Mirialan is laughing under him. He tries not to punch him. 

“Is this true?” he asks, scowling. The man nods, a grin on his face. Maul doesn’t need to see Mesh’la to know he doesn’t like this at all. Maul agrees. They don’t really have much of a choice, however. “He’s ours,” he bargains.

“As long as I get paid, I don’t give a kriff.”

Mesh’la won’t like this. The Mirialan is shaking with laughter beneath him. He squares his shoulders and raises his head above the couch. Sing’s eyes settle on him immediately, probably startled by his eyes retroreflecting the light coming from the open door.

“Think I’ll keep you, my friend,” the Mirialan purrs, eyes heated and a vicious grin on his face. “You can’t give me up, now. The stakes are too high. If you get me and Sing out of this, I’ll give you the others’ splits.”

They hear the low, vibrating sound of lightsabers and hear patrons running away in a rush. Blaster shots resonate and the screams start. Maul can feel the pull of the dark side and grimaces. He rises, jumps over the couch, throws Bossk away from the entry with a push of the Force, giving him as much cover as he can. 

“Protect him,” he orders, pointing at his charge. Aurra Sing scowls but places herself behind him, flanking the Mirialan. Mesh’la comes into the room, crouching on the wall besides the door and Maul silently exchanges his strategy with him. _Do not engage,_ he signs. _You Go around. I Advance_.

_Acknowledged,_ his Commander signs. He can feel how angry he is with him but they don’t really have much of a choice. Maul stands tall and walks out of the room. 

He averts a stray shot from injuring him as soon as he is out. Most of the bounty hunters have formed a line behind the bar, blasting at Ventress and Vianna. The former is toying with them; rather than attacking them, she deflects their shots to send them back on them. She’s keeping them alive, he muses, and he has an idea why. The more beings there are, the more he has to protect from her.

He’s never been one for theatrics; as soon as he can see her clearly, he throws her through the opposite wall with a sharp twist of his hand before she sees him and propulses himself through it, leaving them into an adjacent room with no one in. She loses grip on one of her lightsabers with the momentum and he calls it to his hand. She bounces back in no time, and growls, stalking.

“We had a deal, _Nightbrother_ ,” she sneers. “Don’t they teach Jedi _honor_ on Coruscant?”

He circles her, lights her own saber, twists it and taunts her with it. “Ah, but you see, Lady Ventress,” he says with a warm chuckle shaking in his chest, “I haven’t set foot on Coruscant for decades.”

She yells and throws herself at him with all her might. He blocks her attack with a parry that leaves his side unprotected; she kicks him hard and he has to jump away. Her lightsaber feels heavy in his hand, the dark pulls of the Force twisting the Kyber crystal in it. It feels dark and he doesn’t like it but it won’t distract him. He’s been trained by Jon Antilles. He knows how the dark side feels when you tread close to it. He smiles, bares his teeth and twists her lightsaber in a practiced motion.

“You seem distracted, my lady,” he chastises, using her saber like he would his own. “Perhaps you’d like your lightsaber back?” He feigns attacking her and jumps away, throwing kegs and crates with a swap of his hand. She’s getting angrier. Darksiders pull their strength from anger but there is a thin line between strength and blinding wrath. If he distracts her enough, she will lose her grip on the Force and he will be able to disarm her quickly. Even with one lightsaber, she is a fierce opponent; he can’t let her have the advantage over him.

“You fight dirty, _Nightbrother_ ,” she jeers, her lightsabers clashing in a flurry of red. “A man after my own heart!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, young one,” he huffs. He throws her off but she must have sensed it; she kicks him and he has to dodge quickly. Her lightsaber cuts his scarf in half. He’s backed up against a wall. She raises a hand and suddenly he is in the air. She chokes him and he resists his instinct to let go of his weapons and put his hands around his throat.

“Your little distraction is over,” she whispers, seething. “I will collect my bounty and forget about you in the blink of an eye.”

“Like you did with Feral?” He gasps. He is starting to lack air. No matter. He smiles teasingly. “Served you right the first time.”

He throws a keg behind her. She cuts through it but the distraction makes her lose her grip on his throat. He sucks in a breath and stops himself from coughing, rolls on the floor and propels himself on her. She parries his attack and he grins. He lights one end of his staff and grazes her ribs. She yells and pushes him away.

He adopts the stance of the Jar’Kai guard. Her red lightsaber is in front of him, the red a startling contrast to his own yellow plasma blade. He twists her blade with a flick of his wrist and waits. Her side is not bleeding–it never does with lightsaber wounds–but he can see that she’ll need more than a bacta patch. She pants heavily but takes the offensive with a yell. He jumps back in a somersault, deflects her attack and kicks her hard, throwing her through the wall again. He lets momentum build up, twirls the blades to convey his actions and lets her read him. She doesn’t attack right away. They circle each other and, for an instant, he has to stop himself from shivering with anticipation. His whole body feeds up on the Force around him—he has to restrain his sheer desire to _hunt_. He wants to play with her, wants to let her analyse his movements just to throw her off her rhythm, wants to let her think she has the upper hand just to snatch it from her when she least expects it. It is dangerous for a Jedi to take pleasure in a fight—it’s a sure way to the dark side. He adopts an offensive stance, sees her respond with a defensive one and he bares his teeth. Something passes on her face but she quickly hides it and he knows it’s the moment he’s been waiting for.

He turns off her saber, hurls himself at her and, when he’s close enough, he turns on both of his blades and strikes multiple times with all his strength. He spins on his feet, jumps and shuts off one end of his staff to make a fast slash. Yellow clashes with red and he doesn’t wait; he spins backwards and re-ignites the other blade to sweep at her legs upon landing. She jumps back to avoid being cut off by his staff and he shuts off one end again and turns her own saber on for a wave-front assault. He bares his teeth and spins the sabers in a whirlwind of attacks. She keeps blocking them and he subtly conveys his next movement. When she goes to parry his slash with her own saber, he turns it off and ignites the other end of his staff to strike her middle. She’s thrown back when she blocks him. He hurls himself at her again. Her movements are getting slower. He spins and goes for another slash; she blocks it and he takes it as an opportunity to kick her stomach with all his strength, throwing her backwards. Her back hits a knocked-over table and she cries in pain. She loses grip on her saber and, when he stalks her, he sees the shock in her eyes.

“Deception isn’t the Jedi way,” she grits through the pain. Maul’s eyes soften. She lies on the floor, struggling to stay conscious. He calls her second lightsaber to his hand, holds it with the other one and lets one ignited end of his staff hover menacingly beneath her chin.

“I am not stronger than you,” he tells her truthfully, “I am simply more focused.”

She breathes with difficulty and finally falls unconscious. He sighs and shuts his staff off. He hears shaking breaths behind him and can taste the fear. He turns back slowly.

“Your blaster won’t protect you, Vianna.” She is the only one left standing in the room; the surviving hired guards presumably went away when their source of income left. “Put it down,” he cajoles, “I wish you no harm.” 

Her mind is a whirlwind of emotions, as much as her face is. She is confused, angry and afraid; she feels betrayed, hurt and disappointed. He does not know if the latter is about him or herself. She lowers her blaster. He takes cautious steps towards her. When he sees her tense, he stops and presents Ventress’ lightsabers to her. 

“She will need help.”

“What makes you say I’ll help her?” She barks with no bite. Her hands are shaking. His hearts constrict. He averts his gaze.

“She hasn’t betrayed you,” he says softly, turning his eyes back on her, “Unlike everyone else.”

She takes in a sharp breath and her eyes widen for an instant. He wants to hold her more than anything. It is not his place. He cannot fix what he did; he can only acknowledge it and live with it. She takes the lightsabers and runs to Ventress. He looks at her, sees her hair spill on her shoulders and stays silent. He feels the weight of his saberstaff in his hand and centers himself. He needs to go. Surely the commotion will bring people he’d rather not face. He puts on his hood and walks to the exit.

“Wait,” Vianna demands when he is in the doorway. He stops. “Tell me your name, Master Jedi.”

He shouldn’t. It is unwise; the less people know his name, the easier his job is. He shouldn’t.

“I am not a Master. I am a Knight.”

“Tell me your name,” she reiterates relentlessly. “Who _are_ you, Jedi?”

He looks back at her. She is staring at him with determination in her eyes. Ventress’ head is on her lap and she has a protective hand hovering on her wound. He shouldn’t tell her.

“I am Maul.” They look at each other. He thinks back to that moment when it was only the two of them, the feeling of his fingers through her hair, her laugh in his ear and the wonder in her eyes. She lets out a choked sob. He doesn’t move.

“Jedi Knight Maul,” she whispers with fire in her eyes. It feels like a condemnation. She gasps, exhales in a broken laugh. Her shoulders shake with it. She sneers with all her anger, “I _hate_ you. I hate _you_ , Maul.”

_I know_ , he wants to say. _I deserve it_ , he wants to reply. He stays silent. He exits the cantina, goes toward the nearest crowd and lets himself be lost in it.

*

“Last ping from Bodee was zero point eight kilometers East,” Stat says. “Still salt, no voices?”

Rex looks around him. Kilometers and kilometers of salt. No sun in sight. No sounds but the footsteps of his companion. He glances at the Jedi. He is striking in black compared to the white of the ground. He has his robe on but the hood is down. Rex knows he’s wearing the pieces of armor on top of blacks and trousers but forwent the rest of his Jedi attire. The saberstaff is on his side, along with a DC-17 and a vibroblade strapped to his thigh. Rex wishes he could have General Skywalker do the same. He’s seen General Kenobi lose his sole weapon too many times in battle not to see it as the severe disadvantage it is. 

“No voices,” Maul whispers in his comm. “I can’t feel any sentient beings nearby.”

“You’re there,” Stat says. There’s nothing around them and the Jedi tells him so. The medic groans. “Sure would help to have Vos with you right now.”

“Master Vos?” Rex asks. The other nods absently. Hmm. He’s heard of the Jedi; he has quite the reputation. Cody met him once and apparently the very quick exchange was enough to convince him there was truth behind the rumors. 

“Psychometry would be handy, indeed,” Maul agrees. He puts a knee down and touches the ground with a gloved hand.

“Captain,” Stat prompts.

“No voices, still salt,” he says automatically. He swears they’ve been flashtrained to respond to that tone. It’s uncanny. He checks at the timestamp on his HUD. “We’ve been gone for thirty-seven minutes and fifty-six seconds.”

“I concur,” Maul says, looking at his vambrace. He is still kneeling on the ground but his face and chest are turned toward him. Rex stands guard. 

“We’re still good,” Stat replies. “The—”

Rex hears a low, booming noise behind him. His HUD shuts down abruptly. Suddenly, the whole land lights up like it’s daylight. He turns back and sees a giant explosion from afar. He throws himself at the Jedi and shields him before the blast wave hits them. A sharp object lodges itself between his neck and his shoulder where the plastoid doesn’t cover him. He doesn’t move until the whole land falls into darkness again. 

“Are you alright?” He shouts, voice rough, and he can only see the glowing eyes of the Jedi now that his HUD is out. They’re close enough for Maul to hear him through the helmet.

“I’m okay,” the Jedi says shakily and Rex realizes he’s still on top of him, probably constricting his breathing with his added weight. He stands back on his knees. 

“What was that?” He shouts. Maul shakes his head. He speaks but Rex can’t hear a word he says. “I can’t hear you. HUD’s out. I’m gonna—”

“No,” Maul yells. He lifts himself half up and puts his hands on each side of his helmet. “The breath filters should still work.” Maul glances at his vambrace. It’s out, too. He holds Rex’s helmet and gets closer. For an instant, Rex freezes and his heart threatens to go out of his chest because it looks like the Jedi’s going to give him a Keldabe. He doesn’t though. “We need to get back to the ship,” he shouts. “The base is on the opposite side of that explosion. There is nothing there.”

Kriff. Rex was half hoping he was wrong when he got the same thought. Maul is still staring at him. His throat constricts. “Alright,” he shouts back. The Jedi nods but doesn’t move. Rex realizes belatedly that he’s still on top of him. He scrambles back up, too quickly to have his dignity unscathed. Maul doesn’t say anything. He gets up and looks at Rex, his eyes sweeping from his visor to the top of his helmet. He’s so close Rex can see the flecks of green in his irises. The Jedi blinks. Suddenly his eyes widen and he takes a hurried step back. Rex averts his gaze and looks at the horizon. He won’t have his HUD back until they’re on the ship and it’s probably going to be the same for Maul’s vambrace. There must’ve been an electromagnetic pulse. They’ll have to get back on their own.

It’s not a reassuring thought, considering what happened last time they were outside together.

“Let’s go,” he shouts. He turns towards the Jedi and sees him sway. He closes the distance between them and puts an arm around him instinctively. “Sir?” Alarms ringing in his mind. Kriff. If he’s injured, this is going to be ten times harder. Maul blinks and stares at his helmet. “Captain,” he says and his breath fogs his visor. He passes out right after. _Kriff._ He lays him on the ground and tries to assess what the kark is wrong. It’s not easy with no light at all. Maul moves a bit, eyes closed in pain, and bites his lower lip. Rex tries not to panic. “Sir, can you hear me?” He shouts. No response. “Maul!”

The Jedi doesn’t move. He checks him as much as he can. He pushes the robe away and, sure enough, he finds what’s wrong. There’s a sharp crystal impaled on his left side. Rex’s heart rattle against his ribs. He tries really hard not to panic. _Good job, old boy. You protected him from an explosion just to stab him._

Kark you, mental Cody. Now is decidedly _not_ the time.

There’s movement on his left. He draws his pistols. It’s a big black blob.

“Kesso?” He shouts. The droid flies closer to them and beeps. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” The droid hovers above Maul. “He’s injured. Can you contact Stat and show me the way?” He hopes he’s not making a fool of himself by having a one-way conversation with a probe droid in the middle of a salt pan with an unconscious Jedi in his arms. Eh. He’s been thrown off a giant wall like a pitiful sack of Corellian potatoes for the kark of it. The situation he’s in right now is nothing compared to that. “There was an electromagnetic pulse. HUD’s out.”

Maul is speaking. His eyes are still closed and he doesn’t seem conscious. Rex gets closer but he can’t hear him. He must be mumbling. That’s not good. Kesso beeps, getting his attention. The droid seems to be waiting for him. Rex sighs. He gets up and carries the Jedi. He’s careful not to touch the crystal. “Lead the way,” he shouts. 

They walk for kark knows how long, Kesso on the front and Maul unmoving. All he sees is kilometers and kilometers of salt. Everything looks the same; if Kesso weren’t here, finding the way back on his own would have been a karking pain in the _shebs._ The good news is he’s not seeing the shadow jungle of Umbara. It must be environmental; as long as he keeps his helmet, he’s good. Nothing will go wrong.

“Really, _vod._ You had to say it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m allowed a little bit of faith,” he snarks back at Cody. “Today’s been a terrific day if you haven’t noticed.”

Rex keeps walking. It’s odd; he’d thought Maul would weigh much more than he does. Do Zabraks have hollow bones? Kark if he knows. He never listened to Gree ramble about his findings on different species. He’s sure he talked about Zabraks when they were still training under Alpha but he can’t remember a word of it. Serves him right, now. 

“Eh, most of what he said was complete banthashit, anyway,” Cody remarks.

Rex snorts. “Just like you, then.” He throws a glance at his brother, expecting a sneer and. He freezes.

“What the kark are you doing here,” he scorns. Cody’s visor turns towards him.

“Heck if I know,” he says, shrugging. “Emotional support, I guess?”

Kriff, kriff, kriff. This isn’t good. “Kesso,” he shouts. The droid stops and turns back. “Is there someone besides me?” He jerks his head to where Cody is standing. The droid turns then flies in front of him and moves from one side to the other in what must be its version of a no.

“Cody, you can’t be here,” he argues. The brother cocks his head in what Rex has dubbed the sarcastic tilt.

“Technically, I’m not here, _ner vod_ ,” he replies like the karking shit he is. “Hey, what’s the problem? You talk to me all the time.”

“No, I don’t,” he says. What the kark is he doing? He's arguing with a hallucination. “Go away,” he shouts petulantly.

Cody shakes his head but starts walking again. Rex does the same. Kesso in the front acts like nothing happened. Like Rex didn’t outright ask it if there was someone besides him when there clearly isn’t. Cody prods Maul with his blaster.

“He’s really out of it,” he muses. He pokes a horn with his finger before Rex can stop him. “I think he’s cute.”

“What?” Rex blurts out and almost stops walking. “Shut up. He’s a _Jedi_.”

“Jedi can’t be cute?”

“That’s—that’s not what I’m saying—just— _j_ _ust shut up_.”

Cody shrugs. Rex feels his face heating. He doesn’t say anything. They walk for a while in silence. Maul doesn’t budge. He’s not sure if he’s still mumbling. Kesso looks back from time to time but has stopped trying to communicate. He really should ask what language the droid is speaking.

“You’re not going to try to learn it, are you? No droids in the GAR speak it. Must be an expensive thing. I wonder how they got the funds for it.”

“I don’t think they did,” Rex replies. He doesn’t think _Scimitar_ is the GAR’s property either. “Stop talking to me.”

“You’re a karking plom bloom today, yeah?”

He doesn’t answer him. At least, he’s not seeing Umbara anymore. His legs start to feel heavy. If they don’t arrive soon, he might need a break. He’d rather not stop. Staying out here longer than he has to doesn’t seem like a wise decision. He thinks he sees something ahead. The more they approach, the more dreadful he feels.

It’s _Scimitar._ It’s uncloaked and the landing ramp is out. It’s not good. He can’t leave Maul on his own but he can’t really go in unprepared. He frowns.

“Kesso,” he shouts. Cody stops walking and cocks his helmet at him. The droid turns to him. “Check if there’s anyone else but Stat in the ship.” The droid flies away. Rex looks around. They’ve got no cover. He groans. The droid comes back and gestures _no._ Kriff. It’s not like he has much of a choice anyway. He proceeds towards the ship. He checks the ready room quickly and the sleeping bays. No one. He can’t wait. He goes to the medbay.

“Call Stat,” he says to Kesso as soon as Maul is laid down. The droid beeps. “Hang on.” He takes off his helmet and fetches the datapad left in the bunkroom. “Where’s Stat?” He looks at the pad.

< Unknown. > Kriff. This isn’t good. < My orders were to retrieve MIR’SHEB and REX. >

Maul groans in pain and starts moving. Rex blocks him before he can injure himself more. “Don’t move,” he orders. The Jedi doesn’t seem to hear him. He slowly regains consciousness and, with it, pain. Rex takes his robe away and sees the crystal. Blood is seeping through the wound. Maul starts breathing erratically. They don’t have time. He looks around the bay. There’s an MD-5 droid in the corner. Thank the Force. He activates it as quickly as possible.

“Hello—”

“No time,” he snaps. “Help him out.”

The droid complies and, soon, Rex is confronted with the fact that he has no idea what to do if Maul doesn’t make it. The droid starts scanning him. The medbay is filled with the sounds of his two hearts beating erratically. 

“I will need to start the procedure,” the droid says and Rex understands the silent order. He steps out. The medbay door shuts as soon as he is outside. He puts a hand on his face. It’s wet. He looks at his gauntlet. It’s dark with blood. He takes a quick look at himself and his stomach drops. He’s full of Maul’s blood. He didn’t see it before. Suddenly, his hands start trembling and he takes a couple of deep breaths before he starts droiding like a shiny. _In and out. In and out. Breathe, vod._

“Cody? You still there?” He’s met with silence. Just his luck. Kesso beeps. Rex puts a hand on his Deece before thinking. He forgot he was here. He’s too twitchy. “Close the landing ramp and lock down _Scimitar._ ” Kesso beeps. Kark. The pad is in the medbay. He walks to the control panel for the airlock and puts his hand on it. Red light. Kriff. “CT-7567.” Red light. “Captain Rex.” Red light. Of karking course he doesn’t have access. “Kesso,” the droid beeps, “Can you lock it yourself?” A couple of beeps. The airlock stays open. He sighs. “Can you give me access to the cockpit?” A couple of beeps. The lift’s door opens. He goes in, dread settling in his chest. The holopod is still active. He goes right to it and looks for _Scimitar_ ’s settings. “Lock the ship,” he tries.

< AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED >

He scowls. “Captain Rex. CT-7567.”

< ACCESS DENIED > Of karking course. What is it with machines always refusing to cooperate with him? Kesso starts beeping. A transcript box appears.

< I can put BASE on lockdown. Cancellation will require manual override. FLIGHT MOD and WEAPON SYS will be offline. >

Rex snorts. Weapons don’t work anyway and he has no idea how to fly that thing. “Do it,” he demands. The lights are out for a second. He hears low, vibrating noise. “What’s that?”

< BASE is now on lockdown. SHIELDS are at 87% capacity. CLOAK is at 100% capacity. AIR FILTER is at 97%. >

“Good, good,” he sighs. He raises a hand to brush his forehead but stops before he can smear more blood on his face. “Contact Stat.”

< BASE is on lockdown. COMMS are offline. Do you want to start manual override? >

“Will I need Maul for that?” He asks sarcastically. Kesso beeps. He doesn’t need to read the transcript to know its answer. He karked up. Exhaustion crashes down on him like a speeder at high velocity. He locks his knees. It’s probably the only thing leaving him standing up. 

He’s locked down in a ship while his men are out there. They were potentially near the explosion. He can’t know if they’re safe. He can’t go to them. He’s locked down in a ship with a Jedi lying on an operation table and no brother around him. Suddenly, he wishes for Cody. Even knowing he’s not real and could be dangerous, Rex wants nothing more than to have Cody here with him.

He clenches his fists. He is a clone. He is an ARC. He is the Captain of Torrent Company. He is second-in-command to Commander Ahsoka Tano and General Anakin Skywalker. He better starts acting like it.

_Scimitar_ starts shuddering. It seems to come from the lower deck. He stiffens. He goes to the lift and prepares himself, pistols in hands. The door opens to the ready room and he hears the groans. He opens the medbay door without thinking.

Everything is rattling in the room. The emdee droid is solely focused on the wound, taking out sharp pieces of crystal carved into flesh. Maul is breathing erratically and his head and hands are shaking and spasming.

“Why isn’t he under?” He barks. The emdee droid keeps working.

“There was not enough sedative,” the droid replies. “He will have to fight off the necrotizing fasciitis.”

“The what?”

“Flesh-eating disease.” Rex feels ice in his blood. Maul groans again and the whole bay shudders. “Can't you put him in the tank?” he says, pointing at it.

“There is not enough bacta for full submerging.”

Maul moans in pain and his chest heaves. He gives a full body shudder and gasps. Rex doesn’t think. He takes off his gauntlets, his vambraces and rolls up his blacks to his elbows. He takes the medic stool nearby and sits next to Maul. When he gasps again, Rex puts a hand on his forehead. His skin is very hot but he doesn’t know if it’s a fever or if Zabraks run naturally hotter than Humans.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, using the same tone he does with shinies waiting for triage in the Rimsoo. “It’s alright. I got you.”

Maul pants and turns his head towards him. He opens his eyes and Rex sees gold with flecks of green. He lets his thumb brush his forehead.

“ _Alor’ad?”_ the Jedi chokes and it’s so close to what he’s used to hear with injured brothers that Rex doesn’t think. He takes his hand in his and keeps brushing his forehead.

“ _Jate,_ ” he says. When Maul groans, he squeezes his hand. The Jedi bumps a horn against his palm, closes his eyes and pants. “ _Ke su’ra_ ,” Rex whispers. “Concentrate.”

He’s seen General Skywalker use meditation techniques to heal himself through the Force too many times to dismiss them as banthashit. He recalls him teaching Commander Tano how to do it. He squeezes Maul’s hand.

“Focus on my voice,” he demands. “Focus on me.” The Jedi turns his head completely towards him, away from his wound and the droid and takes deep breaths. His breathing slows down after each one he takes. “That’s it,” Rex says. “Focus on me.” The Jedi nods and, after a beat, everything around them stops rattling. Rex doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, in fear of undermining the Jedi’s concentration. The droid keeps getting shards out of his body and Maul doesn’t react. He looks at his chest. It’s covered in dried blood. Rex averts his gaze. He needs to stay calm. If he panics or has strong emotions, he might disturb him. He looks at the Jedi’s face. He looks peaceful. He looks young. He starts following the markings on his face with a finger, unconsciously. He freezes when he realizes what he’s doing. The Jedi tenses. He starts back again and Maul gradually relaxes.

Rex keeps doing it for a long time, even after the droid stopped working on him. After a while, he collapses from exhaustion, a hand still clenched on the Jedi’s and a finger brushing his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- di’kut: idiot; in context, Dogma’s codename  
> \- jatne vod: Sir, formal - used by bar staff etc., not military (lit. best brother); in context, Schutta’s codename  
> \- shebs: backside, rear, buttocks  
> \- ner vod: my brother  
> \- mir’sheb: smartass; in context, Maul's codename  
> \- alor’ad: captain  
> \- jate: good  
> \- ke su’ra: focus, concentrate, imperative
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- stoopa: fool; in context, Stat’s codename
> 
> SAY WHAT MAUL WHAT NOW, Rex shouts  
> I CNAT HEAR YOU OVER THE OSUND OF HOW GORGEOUS YOU ARE, Rex shouts  
> CODY STOP POKING MY JEDI, Rex shouts  
> ANAKIN I REMEMBER YOU YEETING ME AND I AM NOT OVER IT, Rex shouts  
> Maybe you haven’t noticed but Rex shouts a lot because I like ppl who shout thats it thank you for coming to my ted talk


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r/AskGAR - posted by u/Stat27-3555 · 12 hours ago  
>  **Can you fix stupid? [Serious Replies Only]**
> 
> My Jedi likes to be extra when he fights and gets the dumbest injuries because of it. Is there a way to fix this?
> 
> 🗨 66 comments ➦ Share 🠷 Save 🛇 Hide ⚑ Report 
> 
> SORT BY TOP (SUGGESTED) ▾
>
>> CC-2224 212 points · 11 hours ago · Stickied comment
>> 
>> Contact me if you find a solution.

Maul puts a hand on his stomach and stops himself from wincing. There is a high chance he is bleeding internally. One of his hearts feels heavy and he may have a broken rib. He turns on his comlink and calls _Scimitar_.

“ _Su’cuy, alor_ ,” Stat says right away and Maul lets out a sigh in relief. He winces. He _definitely_ has at least one broken rib. “Sitrep?”

“Ventress and Vianna were dealt with,” he says, voice low. No one pays him mind but one can never be too careful. “I am putting space between myself and the cantina. Have you heard anything from Mesh’la?”

The Corellian Sector is still buzzing with people despite the late hour. A couple of Rodians brush him and he tries not to wince when he avoids them. Asajj Ventress is a force to be reckoned with. He has left the cantina walking only because he threw her through a wall before their fight started. Had he not done that… 

“No but we still got both of your positions,” Stat says. “Schutta’s en route.”

Maul stops walking abruptly. “Is he coming to me or Mesh’la?” He tries to stay calm. He takes a deep breath then regrets it. He worries at his lip and wants to reprimand himself for it.

“Mesh’la,” the _vod_ replies, letting his voice trail in response to his own worried tone. “Not good, sir?”

He closes his eyes. Another fight will be difficult but achievable. “Can I get there before him?”

“Aye. You’re not too far if you keep going East, near the spaceport on Level 88. What’s going on?”

He starts walking faster—not enough to be suspicious but enough to have one of his hearts protest. He turns on his holomap and sees the two dots. If he keeps up this pace, he’ll be there before Schutta. He ignores the hurt and keeps going.

“Sir?”

“Aurra Sing’s there,” he whispers, trying to hide any hint of pain to his medic. The other end of the comm is silent. “You could not anticipate this,” he says, trying to reassure him.

If Schutta sees her, he may lose control. Aurra Sing killed Ponds. As much as Schutta knows the mission comes first, he’s been struggling lately. Maul will never fault him for it. His Sergeant has always been raw, vibrant and passionate. He loves as deeply as Maul does and is as protective and territorial as Mesh’la is.

“Need backup?” Stat asks.

“No but I—” he winces. “I may need the tank when I arrive.” The silence on the other end is very telling. He tries not to grimace. “I’m alright, I just—”

“You just need to soak up in bacta for the fun of it?” comes the sarcastic cut. “ _Me'vaar ti gar_?”

Lying is not the Jedi way. Telling the truth is a sure path to a scathing scolding, however.

“At least one broken rib,” he settles on.

“And?” It was useless to think he would get away with it. He huffs before he can stop himself and groans. When he doesn’t answer, Stat snaps, “ _alor_.”

He grimaces. Almost there. “Probably some internal bleeding. One of my hearts may stop faster than anticipated.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m pulling Schutta back and sending in Dogma on Bloodfin.”

“I—”

“ _No_. You do _not_ want to argue with me right now, trust me.”

_Yes, I do_ , he wants to reply back mutinously. He’s smart enough not to do it. He can sense his Commander nearby now. He feels relief wash over him. He lets himself be guided by his Force signature. The streets on this level are more or less empty; 88 seems to be mostly housings rather than cantinas and casinos. People here avoid looking at each other, hunched down heads projecting that they do not want any trouble. It’s both the most perfect and worst place to hide. Considering the ragtag team Mesh’la, the Mirialan and Aurra Sing form, they may not be the most inconspicuous here. He lets his hood fall further down his face, regretting losing the scarf in the midst of the battle. 

“Sir,” Stat says and Maul hides in an alley when he hears his tone. “Schutta’s not pulling back.”

He stops himself from sighing—at this point, it will only hurt. Schutta must know or, at least, have an intuition about it. If he’s hunting, it will turn into a bloodshed. They can’t afford that. 

The first time Maul saw Ponds, Stat wasn’t with them yet. Master Windu pulled them into the Ryloth campaign to retake control of villages under siege, trusting Maul and his men to use stealth and guerrilla tactics rather than full-frontal assaults. There is strength in numbers, that much is certain, but their squad of three could do significant damage to the droid forces despite their small number. They did not partake in the celebration after victory; Maul went reporting to Master Windu when the man was alone, avoiding Obi-Wan. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to see him yet. Master Windu said nothing even though there was little chance he did not realise what was happening. He only gave him a pointed look and a new assignment with Master Vos. Maul silently went back to the ship to start slicing into the buzz droids they retrieved after Skywalker had disabled them, hoping to recover the data from their memory cores.

What he hadn’t expected was going back to _Scimitar_ only to see Commander Ponds standing in front of her, waiting. He almost turned back again, sure the _vod_ was waiting for Schutta but stopped when he heard his name. _Knight Maul, sir_ , the Commander said, professional and respectful, and Maul walked closer then bowed as was due.

“Commander Ponds,” he said and waited for the _vod_ to speak. The other man stood at ease, took his helmet off, and his eyes were searching.

“Sir,” he began, voice low and Maul felt his determination. “I wanted to thank you.”

“It is a Jedi’s duty to help,” he replied diplomatically. They were almost a year into the war and the number of casualties kept going up. What he said is true; they have a duty to help—to protect and defend all beings. They are not, however, made for war. He will always refuse to be assimilated into the GAR; he will not stand idly by but he will not accept something he thinks is making the Jedi lose their way. They have a duty to protect and he firmly believes in it with his entire being. It does not mean he will follow the path the Council chose for them blindly.

He did not say any of that to the Commander but, judging by his barely-concealed smirk and the twinkle in his eyes, Maul thought he didn’t need to. Ponds was a clever man and a very intuitive one at that.

“This isn’t what I’m saying,” he said, sobering up. Maul cocked his head, inviting him to continue when he felt his reluctance to speak. “I want to thank you for saving my brother, sir.”

There was no need to ask precisely whom he was talking about. Commander Ponds took a step closer and nodded with steadfastness.

“Knight Maul,” he declared, “ _Vor entye_.”

“No,” he replied quickly, shaking his head. “No debt, Commander. I simply did what was right,” he whispered and averted his gaze. He didn’t say he could not accept his thanks because Maul, in all truth, had been too late. He had saved Schutta—but only him.

The Commander shook his head. “Still. You saved him when no one else would, sir.”

Maul had his first test as a Jedi during the war after leaving Tipoca City with Mesh’la for the first time. When the High Council discovered ARC troopers were put in stasis until they were needed, they battled with the Kaminoans, arguing that it was inhumane. Had Maul landed on Kamino months prior to his actual arrival, he may have never met his Commander. Master Shaak-Ti was sent to supervise the troops and, little by little, Council-approved trainers were sent to replace the remaining members of the _Cuy’val Dar_. Younger clones lost their Mandalorian culture but gained individuality despite their psychological conditioning. Clones who would have been terminated before were then delegated to maintenance work on Kamino. There was still, however, a considerable amount in which the Jedi could not interfere with the clones’ upbringing, which included their accelerated aging process and Kaminoans reconditioning aberrant behaviours.

_They’re going to kill him_ , Mesh’la told him after he’d received an encrypted transmission from Alpha-17. _I know Schutta; I trained him myself. If they do this, he’ll be dead. It won’t be him anymore_ , his Commander had told him while they were in hyperspace. _I’m begging you, sir._

Mesh’la should never be pushed to beg. They flew back to Tipoca City and Maul stalked through the cloning facilities wearing his robe over his Commander’s armour, saberstaff in hand and opened the doors to the operating room with a flick of his fingers. He ignited one end before anyone could react.

“This trooper is mine,” he calmly stated and his eyes made a sweep of the room, daring anyone to contradict him. When no one said anything, he looked at Schutta, unconscious on the operating table, flung him on his shoulder and walked away. When one of the Kaminoans protested, he turned back and bared his teeth. “Take it to the High Council,” he sneered. When troops surrounded him and blocked his path to _Scimitar_ , he ignited the other end of his staff but did not adopt an offensive stance. “I wish you no harm,” he declared, “But I am leaving with him.”

He felt the fear in the troopers’ minds and lowered down his staff. He should not be angry and, even more, he should not take his anger out on them. This was not their fault. This was not their doing.

“Let us go,” he said calmly. “He did nothing wrong.”

One of the troopers stepped out of their rank and raised a fist. “Stand down,” the ARC ordered. The _vode_ quickly obeyed. Maul looked at his helmet, one he’s never seen before, but did not move. “Go,” the man said with a jerk of his head. Maul nodded his thanks and took a step. When no one reacted, he shut his staff off and walked to _Scimitar_.

“Alpha-17?” he asked the man for confirmation, when he was at the top of the landing ramp. When he received a nod, Maul bowed slightly, trying not to disturb Schutta. “Mesh’la says hi.”

He closed the airlock and his Commander pulled them out of the facilities before the alarms could be triggered.

It did not take long for the Council to call them. Grand Master Yoda stayed silent but his disappointment was clear. Master Windu, on the other hand, did not pull his punches.

“—reckless behavior unbecoming of a Jedi—”

“He was sent to torture because he fell in love,” Maul contended. “I fail to see how this warrants their so-called _reconditioning_. I fail to see how we can let them keep doing this and consider ourselves worthy of our Order.”

“ _Enough_ , Maul,” Master Windu said. The man looked tired and Maul felt a twinge of guilt. He would not back down, however. “We are not the enemy.” At his words, he receded.

“I know, Master,” he said, feeling exhausted himself. He let his anger go, recentered himself and sighed. “I had to intervene,” he explained stubbornly. “It is my duty as a Jedi to help those in need. They do not deserve such treatment,” he took a deep breath. “These men are sent to fight in a war we failed to prevent. They were created with the sole purpose of defending the Republic. Neither the Kaminoans, us nor the _Cuy’val Dar_ thought about what this would entail for them. They are sentient beings, individuals in their own rights and yet the Republic keeps seeing them as nothing but organic droids.”

He folded his hands into his sleeves and sighed. “I am not saying this is your fault, Masters. I am simply stating the fact that we have been pulled into a war despite not being made for it. We are peacekeepers, not warriors. These men have been trained their entire lives for this and the least we can do is allow them to find happiness wherever they can. The least we can do is alleviate the burden of their duty.”

Master Windu remained silent. He stared at Maul with an unreadable expression on his face. Master Yoda hummed, frowning in frustration.

“Stand by your decision, the Council does. More diplomat, you ought to be, in the future. A way with words, you have, hmm? Use it more often, you should.” He bowed and cut down his end of the transmission. Maul avoided Master Windu’s gaze.

“Your trooper. What is his name?”

“Schutta,” he said. When the other man raised an eyebrow, he didn’t react.

“What about the other one?”

Maul straightens. “Neyo,” he rasped. “It was—I was too late.”

Master Windu nodded, a frown on his face. “Neyo, you say,” he mutters in thought. He looked back at him and the connection fluctuated a bit. “We will look into it, Maul, but it might take time. We’re—”

“—stretched thin as it is,” Maul cut him off, already knowing. He sighed heavily. “Thank you, Master.”

“May the Force be with you,” Master Windu said with a bow then cut the connection.

When Schutta woke up, Mesh’la stayed with him. Maul tried to ignore the flares of pain and hurt in the Force. He stopped himself from moving when he felt the despair. He stayed on the pilot seat when he heard the bellow of anguish. Despite all his senses being on high alert, Maul did not budge. It was not his place. He could not give what Schutta wanted and he did not know how the _vod_ would react when he saw him. Would he accept working with a Jedi when they clearly failed him? If it was not the case, Maul would find an alternative. Fordo and the newly-named Muunilinst 10 do not answer to one Jedi General in particular. There’s always Delta Squad, with whom he has never had an encounter but heard enough about to consider them an alternative, or perhaps the Devil Dogs. Kal Skirata was not an option; Mesh’la and Ordo might communicate but Maul did not trust the _Cuy’val Dar_. He mused on it for a while until Mesh’la came back into the cockpit and pulled him up. His Commander put a hand on his forehorns and, for the first time, tapped his forehead with his own.

“ _Vor entye_ ,” he whispered. Maul shook his head softly.

“No debt. Just tell me what to do,” he replied. _Tell me what I can do_. His Commander looked at him, silent for a while, and Maul felt submerged by deep, breaking waves of loyalty, resignation and protectiveness.

“Talk to him,” he said, so Maul did. He went to the lower deck and sat on the floor next to his Sergeant.

_I am Maul_ , he told him. _I wish you no harm._

_Sir,_ Schutta replied, eyes fixed on the wall in front of them, his voice a rasp on the verge of breaking. _I’m not even close to baseline. I’m not command material._

Maul turned his head, looked at him, at the way he kept his gaze resolutely on the wall before them, at the way his jaw clenched. He let out a small smile and shrugged.

_That’s alright,_ he whispered. _I’m not command material either._

“Just call me Maul, Commander. At least when you’re off duty.”

Commander Ponds saw his deflection for what it was but was polite enough not to call him on it. He smiled and, at that precise instant, Maul understood what Schutta and Master Windu saw in him before anyone else did.

“Call me Ponds, then.”

Schutta came out of _Scimitar_ at that moment, roughly wrapped his arms around Ponds’ shoulders and declared: “I will fight General Windu for you if you steal him, sir.”

He never did, mostly because Ponds would have disliked it. Lightning Squadron were his men and his brothers—if Maul took him, he would have had to take the whole squadron with him. He doesn’t think Master Windu would have stood by his decision if he did.

When they heard Aurra Sing killed Ponds in cold blood, only to let him float in the infinite void of space, Schutta stopped talking for days on end.

“How close is he?” Maul asks, fastening his pace.

“Point seven, sir,” Stat replied. “Take a hard left.” He complied. “Can I send in Bodee?”

“No, he’d be too conspicuous here,” he whispers. He sees the Rodian couple he encountered earlier in a corner. “Tell Dogma to fall back. Our source has a bounty on his head and I think they found him. I’m going under.” He cuts off his end and opens a channel with Mesh’la. He taps a message in Dadita. He glances at the roofs quickly. The Weequay from the cantina is on the third one on the right. He sees a Trandoshan on the fourth one on the left. He almost stops when he sees Embo on the one before. They must know the Mirialan is here. He receives an answer from Mesh’la. _3-W-2_.

_5-H_ , he taps back. He goes in the building next to the one his Commander is in and goes for the fourth floor. With Embo here, whether Schutta arrives before him or not won’t change the fact that their chances of going back to _Scimitar_ unscathed drastically went down. When he is on the fourth floor, he extends his senses to find an apartment with no one inside. He opens the door with a quick flick of his wrist and goes to the window facing the other building. He looks at the apartments on the third floor. The second one is unoccupied. He doesn’t sense anyone on the roof above him. He opens the window with one hand and, when he’s halfway outside, he opens the opposite window he’ll go in with the Force. He puts both feet on the windowsill, takes a deep breath and jumps.

He lands silently in the other apartment, rolling on his shoulder. His broken rib sends a sharp spike of pain. He ignores it. He goes to the exit door and waits. There are people outside. They don’t have any malicious intent; they just live here. He waits and wills his failing heart to stop beating erratically. He sends silent suggestions for them to go back to their apartments. It’s not working. He feels annoyance and frustration rise in him and closes his eyes. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ He empties his mind. He tries again. After a moment, Maul can hear the sound of doors closing. He does not sense anyone else in the hall. He goes out and looks for the second door on the West side. He gives Mesh’la a mental nudge. His Commander opens the door and ushers him inside.

“ _Jate_?” his Commander asks. Maul nods. “We got ambushed,” he says. “Source’s fine but she’s injured.”

“We can’t stay here. I saw Embo outside and, when the Hutts know who I am, he’ll be the least of our worries.”

“What do you mean?”

“One month into my knighthood, I went undercover and dismantled one of Jabba’s slave rings. He never found out who I really was.” He thinks about Vianna and winces. “I’m fairly certain he knows now.” If there’s one thing he is sure about, it’s that Jabba will still want his head a decade after the fact.

“Please tell me you didn’t have sex with Ventress and now she’s set on revenge.”

“What? No!” Maul exclaims. “ _Mesh’la_.”

“It’s a legitimate question,” his Commander mutters, defensively. He can already feel him calculating new strategies. He pulls him further into the apartment. “Was it the other one?”

“We didn’t—” he stops abruptly and averts his gaze. The other man gasps.

“ _Hod Ha'ran_ ,” he whispers in surprise. “You kissed her. _You_ shared a _kiss_ with _someone else_.”

“Mesh’la—”

“I can’t believe it,” he says checking his ammo. “I need to tell the kids. They’re going to lose their karking minds on that one.” He puts his hand on a door and the visor is facing him. “How long can you hold out your own?”

Maul smiles wryly. His Commander has always been too perceptive. “Not long,” he admits. The _vod_ curses.

“We’ll improvise,” he concludes and opens the door. They enter the room and he sees Aurra Sing on a decrepit couch, her slungthrower pointed at him, and the Mirialan lounging next to her, his feet dangling halfway off the armrest. He grins when he sees Maul.

“Embo’s here,” he states and sees how Sing narrows her eyes. He ignores her in favour of the Mirialan. “We’re your best chance at survival.”

“A Mando and a Jedi,” he comments gleefully. “If I take your helmet off, will I see the face of a dead man?”

“I already told you, babe,” Mesh’la says wryly. “I’m way more handsome.”

“I’ll bet. Get us out of here.”

He and Mesh’la share a look. They don’t have a choice. Maul hopes they won’t encounter Schutta en route.

“Your bedside manner leaves much to be desired,” his Commander comments. He gives Maul one final nod and they go for the door. He positions the Mirialan behind him. Sing hangs in the back, slugthrower in one hand and a blaster in the other. 

As soon as Mesh’la opens the door, the lights go out. Sing curses and Maul thinks having Schutta right now would not be so bad.

*

Rex wakes up to the sensation of someone breathing next to him. He feels soft blows of air in his hair and for an instant he’s confused. He’s sitting, his back an arch and his head on something sticky and similar to flimsi. He twitches his fingers. His left hand is curled around something radiating warmth. He strokes something hard with his right thumb and he hears a sigh.

He takes a sharp breath, opens his eyes and raises his head. He is met with the sight of Maul sleeping. He’s very, very close. Suddenly he can’t remember how to breathe.

The Jedi groans a question, still half conscious and refusing to wake up. He nudges Rex’s palm with one of his horns. Rex’s throat constricts. For a second, he can’t breathe. He thought they would be sharper. Are they blunted? The Jedi opens both eyes and blinks. His nose wrinkles in confusion.

“Captain?” he rasps. He stops himself from coughing. Rex stands up sharply. The stool clatters on the floor. He grimaces. The stench of dried blood, disinfectant and gore permeates the air. “Sir,” he says, feeling unbalanced. “Don’t move.” He pushes Maul back down when he tries to stand up. 

“Where—” the Jedi tries to move again but groans. He blinks and makes a noise at the back of his throat. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. He stays silent for a while. Rex startles when the emdee droid moves. He looks around. The bay has been cleaned and sanitized. He takes a quick glance at his armor; still bloody. He cracks his neck and freezes when he feels something on his nape. He taps on it gingerly, realizes he’s not wearing his gloves anymore and feels a bacta patch. Oh. He forgot about his own wound.

Maul takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. He’s staring at the ceiling. “Deebee,” he prompts. The droid injects a hypo in his neck. The Jedi doesn’t react.

“The necrotizing fasciitis has receded, sir. You will need another shot in eight standard hours.” He looks at his patient, assessing, and flashes a light on his face. “You have no pupillary response.”

Maul simply shakes his head. He’s still staring at the ceiling. Rex’s stomach drops. The Jedi pushes himself up, swings his legs and lets them dangle, his back facing the droid. He stares into space, his face void of expression. He pushes the droid’s arm away. “No stims,” he whispers. “I need to be able to concentrate.”

“Is pain a capital part of your process?”

“I need focus if I want to see, Deebee,” he explains. He puts both hands on the seat and pushes himself into a standing position. He groans but raises a hand when Rex makes a move to help him. “I’m alright,” he says through gritted teeth. He takes a couple of steps, hands raised in front of him until he inhales deeply and lowers them. He exhales slowly and Rex can clearly see him suppress a flinch.

“You don’t look it, sir,” he replies dryly. The Jedi ignores him and opens the door. He walks to a crate in the ready room and fetches clean blacks. Apart from the fact that he’s staring straight at the wall, he doesn’t seem to be impaired by his vision loss. Rex doesn’t know if Maul’s lack of reaction to not being able to see is normal or worrying.

“When did Stat leave?” the Jedi asks while taking off his pants. Rex straightens up and stares at the ceiling. He can hear him throw them somewhere and then the distinct sound of blacks being taken off. His ears go red. He’s used to nudity with his brothers but not—not—

“After the explosion, sir.” He hears a door close and the sound of a sonic. His heart hammers in his chest and Rex tries to squash down his rising panic. _Breathe, vod. In and out. In and out._ He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and purposely thinks about something else.

_They always do that_ , Appo groaned, Echo dangling on his shoulder, half conscious and fully uncaring. _I thought Alpha would take the bantha shit out of them._ Rex chuckled, prompting a complaining growl from Fives. A brother from the 104th cheered at them when they exited 79s. He readjusted his hold on Fives. Fierfek, he didn’t realize that karking kriffhead was heavy. _C’mon, Sarge_ , he answered playfully. _Everyone knows going ARC only makes you more insane._ Fives’ shiny pauldron bumped his head. _Just a couple more steps, brother, and you’ll be good_ , he murmurs. As soon as they were secured inside a cab with Jesse and Appo, he’d go find where the rest of their gear was. Fives had one pauldron, his kama and that would be pretty much it; Echo’s pauldrons were nowhere to be found and he was pretty sure he saw his uppers wrapped around Comet’s neck. _Bunch of kriffing nudist shits_ , Appo complained. Rex snorted. _Didn’t hear you complaining about that when you had Thire sitting on your lap._ The Sarge stopped walking and gave him his most unimpressed glare. _Respectfully, sir_ , he said, _go kark yourself_. Rex laughed with his whole body and felt Fives starting to laugh with him. _You kriffing shit, you don’t even know what you’re laughing at_ , Appo sneered. They pushed them in the cab, Jesse already waiting and Rex shook his head. 

He went back into 79s, found their stuff, had a drink with some guys of the 104th and went back to the barracks. He made his way to the medbay and, when he looked around, he sighed in satisfaction. No one but the shitheads who couldn’t hold their booze. He saw the relaxed stance of Kix’s shoulders, engrossed in whatever he was reading, Jesse sleeping on the table next to him and smiled. _They’re in the back_ , the medic said, his eyes still on the pad, _they were singing songs about you—off key as heck_. He walked to their beds silently and Echo started moving as soon as he heard him. _My pauldrons_ , he gasped in horror. Fives startled awake and was up and looking everywhere before Rex could blink. _Lie back down, di’kut_ , he said exasperated. He put a guiding hand on his arm and slowly pushed him on Echo’s bed. _We’re on Coruscant_ , Fives slurred and Rex just pushed him down more forcefully. _I’ll keep watch, brother_ , he said. Fives fell back asleep halfway on the bed and Rex sighed. He pushed his legs up and the brother only groaned but did not react apart from that. The other one looked at him silently, too focused for someone who was dancing half naked standing on the bar two hours ago. _Captain?_ he asked and the uncertainty in his voice broke Rex’s heart. 

He saw the glances, the fleeting touches and the silent exchanges. Ever since they came back from ARC training, their dynamic changed. It’s always been there, he thought, but something happened on Kamino. Echo and Fives became more attuned to one another, two parts of the same gun, and whenever one was without the other they were slightly on edge—nothing too distinct, nothing to warrant comment but enough for Rex to pick up on it.

_I’ll keep watch_ , he reiterated, leaving no room for doubt in what he was implying. Echo stared at him for a long moment until he finally let his head rest back on the pillow. He pulled Fives closer to him and the latter instinctively wrapped an arm around him. He closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

Rex had Fives from the moment they left Rishi. He thought he almost lost him after Umbara but, when they saw Echo’s beat-up chestplate, Fives asked Rex to help him out with the paint, as if Rex’s handprint was unique to him and not the handprint of all their brothers. They’ve always done it together; every time Echo changed armor, Rex and Fives would recreate the handprint under his watchful eyes. Rex did his part and, when Fives asked him to help him out with his own kama, he did, under the watchful eyes of Echo. Rex always had Fives; he was his shiny, he was his trooper and he was his ARC.

He thinks he truly got Echo on that night. The morning after, when they put his handprint on the shiny ARC-issued chestplate, Echo commented on their work for the first time by saying _it feels right._

It’s selfish, he knows, but he can’t imagine having them coming back from the field and not coming back to him. They’re his not because he decided they were but because they let him have them. And Rex is a possessive bastard. Once he gets something, he never lets it go.

He takes a look at his armor and grimaces. There’s cleaning gear right in front of him but he’s not sure he’s allowed to use it. The temptation is great, though. He’s covered in dried blood and salt. He’s positive some of the former has seeped through his blacks. He hears the sonic being turned off then a door opening. He turns back to the medbay and sets his eyes on the datapad. When he hears Maul walk to him, he deems it safe enough to turn his gaze to him. The sonic did him good but he still looks exhausted. 

“You mean he looks like shit, _vod_ ,” Cody remarks, appearing in his field of vision, seemingly out of nowhere. Rex stiffens. Maul’s face is set in stone, a stark contrast to the relaxed stance he had when he was asleep. His eyes don’t move, strangely frozen looking halfway down at Rex’s chest.

“Is there someone else in the room, Captain?”

A voice at the back of his head suggests he could watch the Jedi without any risk now. He could stare at his face as much as he’d like and Maul wouldn’t know. He quickly squashes the thought. Cody sets himself in the doorway and takes off his helmet. He looks exactly like the last time he saw him, back on Coruscant and right after Umbara—exhausted, pissed off at the galaxy and resigned to see countless brothers die.

“No,” he blurts. Maul cocks his head and he’s pretty sure the Jedi doesn’t believe him. “Can you—can you sense someone else?”

“No,” he replies, letting the vowel drag. “Should I?”

The emdee steps in front of them and Rex tries not to let his relief show too much. Cody snorts. “Are you experiencing hallucinations and/or dissociation?” The traitorous thing asks and Rex scowls. “Stat reported you experienced prior—”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. He purposely does not look where his brother is, unashamedly staring at the Jedi from different angles, letting his eyes trail over the blacks and the lightsaber holstered to his waist with some sort of belt. He has to admit it’s a strange outfit. “I’m not going to attack anyone.” The droid stays silent for a while and Rex stiffens.

“You have not answered my question, Knight Maul,” the emdee states.

“Yes to the former, no to the latter,” the Jedi says dismissively and threads his fingers together. “Have you contacted Stat yet, Captain?”

“No, sir, the ship’s on lockdown,” he winces. Maul can probably guess who the culprit is—or not, since he blatantly stated he has hallucinations as well.

“Ah,” the Jedi says. “Perhaps Kesso and I may be able to override it.” He nods, “I shall go to the upper deck. Feel free to use the sonic and cleaning gear. There are blacks available you can use. I know it’s not ideal and—I apologise for the inconvenience I’ve caused you.” The Jedi bows slightly then heads to the lift. Cody follows him with his eyes and whistles low. It takes him a couple more seconds to stop himself from panicking. He deliberately lied to a Jedi.

He takes off his armor and uses the sonic as quickly as he can, stupidly wishing for a hot shower. He feels strangely dirty, like he can’t shake off the grime because it’s under his skin. He shouldn’t use the sonic. He’s wasting time. He may not have the chance to do it later. He looks around the sonic and stops. Besides the vacc tube, there is a ship-sized carbon-freezing chamber. He realizes all of a sudden that the Jedi was apologizing for bleeding out on him. He shakes his head. He’s wasting time. He gets out and takes blacks from the crate Maul opened. He tries not to frown. Wearing someone else’s blacks is weirdly intimate. He tries not to muse on it for too long. He puts on his boots, takes a crate and throws the rest of his armor and cleaning supplies in it then he and Cody head to the upper deck. The lift stops for an instant and all the lights turn off. It starts again and Rex thinks it must be the manual override. When he steps out, Maul is facing the holopod, Kesso beeping next to him. Rex joins them and starts cleaning his gear. It’ll have to be quick and efficient. He’ll deep clean when the mission is over. He puts on his newly cleaned lower armor, kama secured, and sets himself on the upper body parts. Cody has stationed himself on the opposite side, looking at the holopod with a calculating look on his face. It almost feels like a regular briefing.

This is going to be a karking mess.

“As much as the Force is my guide, it cannot describe a hologram for me,” Maul mutters. Kesso beeps and flies around him. “When was the last ping?” The droid beeps. Rex looks at the transcript box.

< TRACKERS have been inactive for 09:56:14. ALL TRACKERS were located within 1.7 km from TARGET. >

“They were either baiting us or proceeding without us,” Maul says, grimacing. “Knowing Mesh’la, both were likely. We’ve lost contact since the explosion, I guess?”

< Affirmative, MIR’SHEB. >

“The EMP affected our gear but you and _Scimitar_ are intact. What was the blast radius, then?”

< 16.4 km. TARGET stands at 14.2 km from the blast. You were at 7.8 km and BASE is at 25.3 km. >

Rex takes a look at the holomap, plays back the last half standard hour before the explosion. There were four dots near the Seppie base. They were on the move. JATNE VOD was the closest, approaching from the South, while DI’KUT and STOOPA were approaching from the East and MUDLICKER from the West.

“That’s not recon,” Cody notes. “They were proceeding to the base together. Jatne Vod was advancing and I bet he was bait.”

“Schutta’s usually our best choice for a distraction,” the Jedi muses. “Where are the others? Is Stat with them?”

“Stoopa’s with Di’kut,” Rex answers, taking a guess at who Stat is. When Maul nods, he knows he’s right. “Mudlicker’s on his own.”

Maul hums. He starts pacing like a caged nexu. He looks eerily dangerous and Rex can’t stop himself from staring. “That base is a fortress. A full-frontal assault isn't the best strategy,” he hears himself say. “My guess is, if Echo got a hand in that, he found a weakness and they were exploiting it.” That would assume Echo is fine and with them. Considering what they saw, it’s a wild guess. He puts a hand on his chin and feels the beginning of a scruff. Maul stills and cocks his head, as if listening for something. Rex waits but he doesn’t say anything so he continues, “Whatever caused that explosion gave ‘em a good distraction for a surgical strike on the base’s defenses.”

Maul nods in agreement and starts pacing again, this time circling the holopod. “We don’t know where the majority of our men were during that explosion but we can hope their comms are still active. We have to find them,” he concludes.

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that he can’t see?” Cody asks sarcastically. Eh, Rex is not the one who’ll broach the subject. “Or that he’s got no idea why the kark three of your men attacked the others?”

Maul sighs. “I do not need sight to see. The Force will guide me.”

In the blink of an eye, the Jedi is on Cody’s side and has his lightsaber ignited and menacingly hovering near his brother’s throat. Rex freezes.

“Who are you?” Maul whispers calmly. Cody looks at him with a side glance but doesn’t move. The lightsaber illuminates his face. Rex has never seen a yellow one before. He thought these weapons only came in blue, green, red or purple—and the latter he’s pretty sure it’s unique to High General Windu’s. The closest one to yellow he’s seen is Commander Tano’s short one, which is green but verges on yellowish. “I cannot sense you,” the Jedi says conversationally, “yet I can hear you. You do not sound like a hologram and I think I can safely say Captain Rex can hear you as well. Who are you?”

Cody stands at attention. “Marshal Commander Cody of the two hundred—” he cuts himself off when the ‘saber almost grazes him. Cody isn’t wearing his bucket and the lightsaber is yellow but all Rex sees is a helmet adorned with a Rishi eel and a green blade menacingly hovering close to it. 

“Try again,” the Jedi suggests. “Captain, I wish you no harm. Lower your weapon, please.”

“I—” All of Rex’s instincts tell him to listen to the Jedi but oddly his hand doesn’t move. Every time he blinks, he sees Krell. He shakes his head to clear it. “I—”

His hand is shaking. It shouldn’t. He’s a soldier. He’s been made for this. Why can’t he shoot? 

Why can’t he shoot?

Krell is a traitor, conspiring against them. He is a threat to the Republic; if he escapes, they will lose Umbara. He killed their men—pushed them to slaughter their own brothers. Rex can’t let him escape. He has to do this. So why can’t he shoot?

_You’re in a position of power, now. How does it feel?_ His hand is shaking. _It feels good, doesn’t it?_

“On your knees,” he says through gritted teeth. He can’t let the possibility that he might escape.

“ _Alor’ad_ ,” Maul tries again. “Please, stand down. This is not your brother. _Ne Kote_.”

“As long as he’s alive,” Cody says, “he’s a threat to every one of us.”

“I have to do this,” he chokes. His hand is shaking. Why can’t he shoot?

Before he can comprehend what is happening, he and Kesso are thrown by a hard, invisible pull straight into the lift. The doors close before he gets up. He tries to open them but is suddenly locked inside. He hears the telltale sound of a lightsaber and takes in a sharp breath. His mind feels clear and all he can think about is that Maul is on his own, locked inside the cockpit with Cody or whatever he is. He bangs on the doors. Kesso is beeping a constant stream of words. When the doors don’t budge, Rex takes off a shin guard, lodges it in between by force and pulls. When there’s enough space for him to fit, he goes through and takes both Deeces out. Maul is alone, breathing heavily, both of his blades ignited and a hand put protectively around his wound. Rex runs to him and supports him before he can fall down on the ground, one arm wrapped around his waist. Kesso flies in circle around them.

“I’m real,” he says like an idiot. Maul chuckles warmly. He can feel it through his blacks.

“I’m aware,” the Jedi pants between bated breaths. He smiles wryfully. His eyes crinkle. “I don’t think I could imagine someone quite like you.”

Rex’s throat constricts. He averts his gaze and helps Maul settle on the pilot seat. Kesso is hovering next to his head.

“I’m alright,” the Jedi says and the fondness in his tone is unmistakable. “Go to your charging station.” The droid beeps. “I can hear the low power mode, Kesso. Go. I’ll wake you up when we move out.” The droid beeps once more then bumps softly against one of Maul’s horns before heading to the lift. Rex doesn’t comment on the strange exchange. Maul moves then winces. Rex tries to pry his hand away from the wound and convey his intent. He only receives silence so he rolls the upper blacks slowly, peels them away from his skin until he can see the wound for himself. Maul almost pulled out his stitches.

“You need a bacta patch,” he says monotonously. The Jedi sighs.

“It’s not a priority. Stat used our last ones after Nar Shaddaa and Luminara’s supplies were too low for us to borrow more than a handful.”

“General Unduli?” Rex asks because from everything he just gathered, it seems like the most important piece of information to focus on. Maul chuckles then winces. Rex almost puts his hand on the wound before he thinks better and gingerly places it next to it.

“I like the sound of ‘Master Unduli’ but ‘General’ feels odd,” he admits. It’s the first time he comments on a rank and Rex has an inkling it’s more important than what it appears to be. “I knew her when she still had milk teeth and enjoyed throwing datapads at Kit’s head. Oh, he deserved it, mind you, but Luminara seemed to always escalate things. I can’t even count the number of times Madame Nu threw us all out of the library because these two couldn’t play nice whenever they were in the same room,” he says wryly. Given the image his mind just provided, Rex does not know if he wants to laugh or scream. He’s never going to be able to look at either of the Generals with a straight face now. The Jedi falls silent. They know they need to address the bantha in the room but neither of them wants to.

“We had a mission on Umbara,” Rex starts to say, his gaze fixed on Maul’s face. The vacant stare is unnerving and, right now, he would do anything just to have him focus his eyes on him once again. “We needed to conquer the capital as fast as we could and the other battalions were counting on us. General Skywalker was called back on Coruscant halfway through so Pong Krell took command.” There’s no reaction over Maul’s face, no hint of recognition at the mention of his name. Rex knows better. “He wanted to court-martial Fives and Jesse but decided to execute them instead. Dogma was in charge of their execution,” he continues and _there,_ right there, Maul reacts. It’s subtle and, if Rex could not feel his muscles twitch under his fingers, he wouldn’t know it. He sees the Jedi open his mouth and cuts him off, “Krell sent us to kill our brothers and made me watch my own men execute Fives and Jesse. He sent us on a full-frontal assault knowing we wouldn’t stand a chance.” He closes his eyes, feels his hands shaking. _Breathe, vod. In and out. In and out._ “I keep reliving this ever since I set foot on this planet,” he confesses. He stops himself from flinching when he feels the Jedi’s hand on the side of his face. It’s warm, warmer than a human’s, and he can feel the lightsaber calluses.

“Let me help,” he whispers. “Captain, please.” Rex opens his eyes at the tone and stops breathing. Instinctively, he raises his mental shields, using every tricks Alpha taught him. Maul takes his hand away and nods silently. He knows what the Jedi is offering. General Koon did it for Wolffe after they lost the _Triumphant_ to Grievous’ _Malevolence_. _You don’t forget but it doesn’t hurt anymore_ , Wolffe told him, one night after too many drinks. _It’s like looking at hyperspace inside a Cruiser._ Rex understands why General Koon did it and why Wolffe accepted. There was nothing they could have done to prevent what happened. His brother didn’t deserve to suffer if there was an alternative.

Rex could have prevented his brothers’ deaths multiple times. He didn’t.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” he admits, “And I don’t know if I can trust you or myself.”

“It’s alright,” Maul replies softly. “I trust you.”

Rex stares at him for a moment, disbelieving. “I tried to shoot you. _Twice._ ” Not even fifteen minutes ago he was ready to shoot him down. What the kark is wrong with _Jetiise_? Do they all come into the world karked in the head? Maul scoffs. 

“And? I fail to see how this is relevant. Stat stuns us all the time yet I trust him with my life.”

“ _Di'kutla jetii_ ,” he huffs and feels mortified when he realizes what he just said. Maul laughs. His whole torso vibrates with it. He settles back more comfortably on the seat and one of his legs brush with his inner thigh. Rex startles and looks down; he’s bracketing the Jedi, each knee pushed on the seat and his hand still on his torso. 

“Whatever impersonated Commander Cody was feeding upon you,” Maul comments. “It lost strength when I pushed you away and I could finally feel it. It’s inherently dark and—it _feels_ like Feral Opress. I don’t know how to explain it but there’s something about it that reminds me of him.”

“You met Opress?” Rex settles on. He’s not sure what to say about the rest. Maul grimaces.

“We did,” he states, his voice void of emotion. He’s pretty sure it’s on purpose. “When Echo was with us, actually.”

_Not even half of us came back_ , Echo told him. _I’ve never seen a Jedi look like Maul did that day._ Rex doesn’t need to know more about that.

“You think that’s what’s been kriffing with our men?”

The Jedi hums. “It seems likely. When did Commander Cody start to appear?”

Rex frowns. He thinks he knows where Maul is going with this. “When you were unconscious. You’ve got a strong bond with the Commander,” he muses out loud and ignores the flinch he receives. “And you’re not one hundred percent right now. It’s only taking action when you can’t bite back, I think.” That would explain why the Commander started hearing Captain Fordo in the middle of their watch; he bets it would be when the sedative was at its most potent. “He and Captain Fordo—they’re close?”

Maul nods. “Mesh’la trained him himself.” Rex’s eyebrows raise. Fierfek, that’s impressive. Captain Fordo’s a legend within the GAR, so much that his name is now synonymous with straightforward strategies that require heavy firepower. General Skywalker and the 501st have taken the advantage over the Seppies too many times by Fordo’ing for Rex to have nothing but deep respect for the man. He never met him but he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity if he could. Eh. He sounds like a karking shiny. 

“It still doesn’t explain why he formed an alliance with Fives and Dogma,” he comments. Unless—he gets up and opens the intercomlink. “Deebee?” he asks. “Do you still have the shard of crystal you took out of my neck?”

“I do, sir,” the emdee replies. 

He frowns. “When everyone came back, who needed treatment for injuries made outside the ship?” He sees Maul settling himself next to him, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed.

“Mesh’la, ARC trooper Fives and Dogma,” is the answer and Rex sighs in frustration. “They all had fragments similar to the crystal shards I extracted from both of you.”

“Kark,” he growls. Stat said they don’t have the right equipment to analyze that. “What about Jesse?”

“No, sir.”

“You being a Jedi and a Zabrak may explain why you don’t react to it like we do,” Rex comments, looking at Maul.

“You mean my vision loss,” the Jedi says. Rex shifts on his other foot.

“Did you hear anyone else apart from Cody?” 

The Jedi stills.

“Yes,” he admits. “I still do.” Before Rex can say anything, he raises a silencing hand. “I know perfectly well he’s not real.”

“ _He_?” 

“It still doesn’t explain what’s wrong with _Scimitar_ or why none of us can remember how we landed on Eredenn Prime,” Maul says, dodging the question. He starts pacing. “If your theory is right, then we may have to fight against our men. We have no idea _what_ it is nor why it would push Mesh’la, Fives and Dogma to attack the others. We have no idea if it is the reason why they—”

The power shuts down. The cockpit falls into darkness. Rex has his Deeces in hand before he can even think. The only things he can see are the stars from the cockpit window and Maul’s unmoving eyes. They hear a low, throbbing noise coming from the lower deck. The Jedi’s breath hitches.

“I can sense them,” he says and Rex’s jaw clenches. “They’re forcing their way in.”

“Who are they?” he whispers, and places himself behind the holopod, with a direct sight to the lift. Maul crouches behind the pilot seat and Rex can see him take his lightsaber in hand.

“Our men.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)
> 
> \- Su'cuy, alor: hi, sir  
> \- Me'vaar ti gar?: in context, sitrep (lit: what's new with you?)   
> \- Vor entye: Thank you (lit. I accept a debt)  
> \- jate: good  
> \- Hod Ha'ran: a trickster figure, one of the gods in the ancient mando religion; in context, an exclamation  
> \- alor’ad: captain  
> \- ne kote: it’s not Cody (lit. not glory)
> 
> [SUNJA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunja/pseuds/Sunja) MADE [ART](https://nevermindigotthis.tumblr.com/post/618441959851360256/yeaaaaaah-remember-that-fanfiction-i-was) AGAIN AND LOOK LOOK IT’S THE BOIS LOOK AT THEM THEY’RE PERFECT


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i tag the boys correctly? I mean Mesh’la is 100% an OC but technically I pulled Stat and Schutta from canon/legends but Stat has like 0.46 minute of screen time (and a marvelous blurry portrait on wookieepedia) and Schutta’s only in the last volume of _Dark Times_..... but dem me bois, right?

It’s been almost two years since he’s been on a Cruiser. He doesn’t miss it. He deactivates the cloak and can already feel the cannons locking in on their position. He stops himself from rolling his eyes and turns on the comlink. Besides him, Dogma shifts, full of nervous energy.

“ _Tranquility_ , this is Commander Alpha-28 aboard _Scimitar_ requesting a landing dock.”

They wait.

There’s no immediate response. They haven’t been blown up yet. He’s counting it as a win. Dogma starts tapping on his thighs. “Easy, _Vod’ika_ ,” he says softly. “They’re probably looking for my file.” He doesn’t tell him they’re probably going to find a whole lot of nothing. When the Jedi High Council stood by Maul’s theft, his file more or less disappeared from the GAR databanks, hidden behind layers and layers of confidentiality. “Any chance you’re friends with the brass there?”

“No,” Dogma snorts. “Even if I knew someone, I’m not sure my name would be in our favor, now.” Hmm. He’s got a valid point. They wait. He starts tapping rhythmically on the dashboard then blows a sunberry. Dogma looks at him like he just told him he was ready to become a Twi’lek dancer.

“Would you rather become a Twi’lek dancer with no coordination or a Muun accountant with no knowledge of basic mathematics?”

“Er.” Dogma blinks for a long time. “I, er, the accountant.”

“Why?”

“I could still use droids,” he says like it’s the most logical thing in the galaxy. Well. He’s not wrong. “And I wouldn’t like people looking at me like _that_ ,” he adds, scrunching up his nose. “You?”

“The Twi’lek, of course,” he drawls. He turns his head to the other man and wiggles his eyebrows. “That way I’d still be pretty.”

Dogma turns red but rolls his eyes and murmurs _E chu ta_. Huh, that’s new! New scumbag material right here—he likes it. It takes time but they’re peeling that hard shell off him. Schutta’s going to be proud.

“If I dance for you, will you relax? I could go slow, start stripping and—” he dodges the hand aiming for the back of his head and grins. “With big paws like that, you’d fare better on Kashyyyk, baby,” he comments. Dogma punches his shoulder. “Ow. I could report your _shebs_ for that. You’re _Wookiee_ you’re cute.” He receives another punch. Fair. He deserves that one. 

“Commander Meisler, you are cleared to land Bay three-two-seven, Dock Usk four-three.”

“Oooh, look at that. They’ve got the name.” He turns on their end. “Acknowledged, _Tranquility_ , landing Bay three-two-seven, Dock Usk four-three.”

They land without a hitch. Dogma’s already calling the lift before he can stand up. They go to the upper deck. He puts on his helmet, adjusts his pauldron and kama, avoids looking at the medbay and puts his hand on the control panel. The airlock opens and the landing ramp starts extending. He takes a couple of steps out and stops. There’s a whole squad ready to fire. He can’t say the welcome party is a surprise.

“Hi,” he says with a slow nod and locks his thumbs on his belt. He’s met with silence. “How’s it going, boys?” He can see some of the _vode_ tense. He checks his HUD. Ah, poodoo. He turns off the vocal scrambler. Good first impression. He sighs heavily. “Listen,” he says slowly, checking that they can understand him. “I’ve got a Jedi who needs surgery fast and we don’t have the right equipment. You guys were closer than the med stations. Please tell me you’ve got something resembling an actual medbay on that big ship of yours or if we need to kark off somewhere else.” There are two Mirialans taking quick steps towards them. They radiate authority and _Jetii_ woo-woo. Must be the brass. He doesn’t move.

“I am General Luminara Unduli,” the adult says. He nods at her. He’s heard that name before. That’s good; it means she knows his Jedi. She seems wary. “Who are they?”

“Maul,” he tells her. His voice doesn't waver. He sees the way her eyes widen in shock for just a second. He doesn’t react. “You can come see for yourself or give us access to your medbay. Otherwise, I won’t move him.” 

“Maul, you say?” she asks with a slight tremor. He nods.

“Jedi Knight, red Zabrak, really gorgeous and—” he raises a hand at shoulder level, slowly so that the troopers aren’t startled. Well. He’s not that short. But he’s still short. He raises it slightly higher. “Yay high.”

The Mirialan kid takes a step forward. When the adult simply nods, she comes towards him.

“I am Commander Barriss Offee,” the kid says. Before he can say anything, they hear a voice from inside the ship.

“Barriss?” Stat shouts. “It’s 27-3555.” He raises a brow at that but stays silent. The kid runs inside, leaving him with their welcome party.

“Stand down,” the General says. His body instinctively relaxes when the weapons aren’t pointing at him anymore. His hands are still clenched. “How many people are inside your ship, Commander?”

Heh. Their state-of-the-art radars couldn’t tell them how many people _Scimitar_ holds; his girl is still in the game. “Six—one Jedi, four clones including myself, and one confidential informant.” She narrows her eyes at the last one. He shrugs. She frowns but doesn’t say anything. Dogma comes out of _Scimitar_ , stands one step behind him on the edge of the landing ramp. He’s in full armor, just like him. The men facing them visibly tense but they don’t disobey orders.

A _vod_ with a command skirt strides purposefully towards them, followed by _vode_ with a medical capsule. The kid must’ve called them in.

“Commander Meisler,” the _vod_ says and he grimaces. Fifty credits says he’s one of 17’s cadets. He’s got the attitude and the stick up his _shebs._ This is going to be fantastic. He almost wishes for Neyo instead and it’s really telling because that _vod_ is a poodoo-eating bastard. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“People never do, really,” he says before he can think it through. Oh, well. He never gets along with 17’s kids anyway. He lets one medic enter the ship with the capsule but steps in front of the others. They’re smart enough to stay where they are. “My specialities are surprising people and kissing them senseless.” One of the shinies lets out a nervous laugh. No one else reacts. The medic is the first to come out, Schutta right behind him, in full armor. He holds his beloved DC-17m facing down. His posture alone would make anyone in front of him scramble out of the way. The capsule follows him. Stat and the kid flank each side of it. Schutta is the only one speaking—to either Dogma or Stat; he can only hear the gibberish his external audio input gives him. They pass him and Dogma sets himself behind them. They stop. The kid starts to say something but stops when they hear Stat’s vocal scrambler. Dogma steps out and signs _Acknowledged_ when Schutta takes his place. Everyone around them tense at the clear display of mistrust. He doesn’t care. What he cares about is the fact that they’ve decided to let him out of whatever they’ve decided. This may be an issue.

The General follows the capsule with her eyes, a stricken look on her face. She wants to let her hand brush it when they pass next to her but stops herself when she sees Schutta stiffen. 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he says, redirecting everyone’s focus on him. The _vod_ with the kama clenches his fists.

“Would you like to use the command center holotable?” the General asks with a polite smile. It’s a courteous suggestion and a karking smart one at that. “I’m sure you will need to debrief with your superior in command.” If she’s annoyed, it doesn’t show. 

Master Luminara Unduli sits in the High Council; he knows all of the members by files. It’s his job, after all. She would know if Maul were a General. In her ill-conceived suspicion, it’s natural she would try to get the name of his GO. Well. It may not be so ‘ill-conceived’; he didn’t really make an effort to be forthcoming.

“I’m afraid my report is need-to-know only, sir.” She narrows her eyes again. The brass never like it when they don’t get to be in on the secret. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turns back without waiting for a response. He closes the door after Dogma despite the protests and locks _Scimitar_. “Relax, they won’t come in,” he says. They’re too wary for that. “Time to call the big ones. Wanna come in?”

“Not really,” _Vod’ika_ replies but still steps into the lift with him. He goes straight to the seat next to it, outside of the hologram’s range. 

They make the call. They wait. Windu doesn’t answer. He really hopes he won’t have to call Yoda. The _Jetii_ … unnerves him. It’s his Basic. It makes him want to anticipate the end of every sentence. The call gets through.

“Commander.” If Windu’s surprised by him being the one who calls him, it doesn’t show. Or at least he can’t tell. He has no idea if the _Jetii_ has the emotional range of a rock or if he just can’t see the different shades.

“General,” he greets. “The informant is ready for transfer.”

Windu stays silent. He stares at him, probably analyzing every single word he uttered. He stays put, controls his breathing and waits. He won’t give him anything more than what he feels like.

He doesn’t hate Windu but he doesn’t like him either. He could find a karkload of reasons for that. The real one is he doesn’t like him because of the way Maul acts around him. His _Jetii_ is a free spirit; he doesn’t care much for conventions or decorum if it’s not relevant to their mission. Where Windu is concerned, it’s different. The Jedi Master is the only person whose opinion seems to be of the utmost importance for Maul. He’s always ready to restrain himself or even give in to the _Jetii_ ’s whim if he thinks it would please the man. 

And _that_ ’s what he hates.

Windu holds too much power over Maul. He doesn’t know if either of them is aware of it but he hates it nonetheless. He’s never said it to his _Jetii_ , mainly because he thinks it would hurt him more than anything else. 

He’s never met Master Antilles himself but he’s heard plenty about him and he thinks he wouldn’t like him either. Stat says he’s just jealous because the Corporal doesn’t understand that it’s perfectly logical to mistrust people who hold so much power over their _Jetii._ It’s called _being cautious._

“Ready for transfer,” Windu repeats. He probably thinks he found something. His eyes go to the holotable in front of him. They narrow. “You’re going to leave him on the _Tranquility_.”

He clenches his jaw. If there was a chance no one would notice, he would’ve already gotten rid of the Council’s tracker on _Scimitar._ It’s blatantly stupid to have a tracker on a stealth ship. It’s an obvious flaw that could give the enemy advantage over them. Windu and Yoda don’t see it that way. If he asks Maul, he knows his _Jetii_ will throw it away. He also knows Maul would deal with the consequences on his own. So he doesn’t ask. 

“To whose authority?”

“The Senate, sir. I don’t think the High Council can grant him the kind of immunity he’s asking for.” The Jedi Master frowns but doesn’t say anything. Time to push forward. He continues, “I’d like to put in a request for immediate intervention.”

“You’ve never waited before,” Windu comments. “What is it?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “We need more men.”

“Lightning?”

“No,” he says too quickly to go unnoticed. He stops himself from cursing. Schutta won’t be able to work with Lightning, not after what happened on Nar Shaddaa. They can’t have men from the 91st; the farther away Schutta is from Neyo, the better. Especially now that Ponds is dead. He’s had enough interactions with the Commander to know he won’t hesitate to use his hold on Schutta if it can be an advantage for the 91st. There’s no way he’s letting his _vod_ anywhere near that guy. He throws a quick glance at Dogma, silently asking for confirmation. Dogma nods, certain. 

He squares his shoulder and takes a risk. “I’d like to request men from the 501st.”

Windu’s eyebrows raise comically. “Skywalker’s battalion?” he asks for confirmation, maybe in disbelief. Who knows with that one. He thinks he can hear his disbelief but he’s never sure with that _Jetii._

“Yes, sir. CT-7567 is a good strategist and he knows how to improvise on the field.” At least, that’s what he’s been told but he has faith in Dogma. He knows them and how they work. If he says his former Captain will work fine with them, he believes him. “We’ll need that.”

Windu frowns but doesn’t deny him right away. He’ll count it as a win. “You want Captain Rex,” he muses, “but not Skywalker.” It’s not a question.

“We have Maul.” Seeing the lack of response on Windu’s face makes his hackles rise. “He’ll be ready,” he says through clenched teeth.

If Windu disagrees, he doesn’t say.

The following silence brings to the surface a thought he’s been trying to kill since he carried his _Jetii_ back to _Scimitar_ unconscious and–as inconceivable as it seemed before–dying.

What if Maul doesn’t make it?

The thought haunts him throughout the rest of the conversation, a constant that he cannot get rid of. When he ends the call, he turns his head to Dogma. The _vod_ simply shrugs. _General Skywalker’s not going to like it,_ he mumbles apologetically.

Well. That’s not his problem. That’s what he thinks at this precise moment.

  
  
  


He was wrong. Skywalker quickly becomes his problem. 

Only eleven standard hours have passed. He’s been sitting in their medbay for the last four. Schutta is on the floor, next to him, drooling on his cuisse and snoring softly. Dogma is watching over Stat, who finally fell asleep for the first time since they took off Nar Shaddaa. Deebee and the DRK-1s are all docked in their charging stations, last he checked. _Scimitar_ is locked and inaccessible from the outside, barring an assault. He waits. The bacta tank illuminates the bay and gives a strange color to Schutta’s face. In eight hours, he will take Maul out of it and wait for him to wake up. He taps on the datapad in his hand and takes a deep breath or he's going to snap it in two. Skywalker has been slicing his way through their files. He found nothing. There was nothing to find; they don’t report to the GAR. They don’t update their files. But still. He left a karking mess and it could catch someone else’s attention.

After hour thirteen, his HUD indicates someone triggered _Scimitar_ ’s perimeter alarms. The _vod_ with the command skirt stands outside, helmet in hand. It took them more time than he thought to get impatient with the squatters on their cruiser. 

“Who are you?” the _vod_ asks as soon as he steps out of the ship. “Why can’t I find anything on you?”

“Those are good questions, er—”

“Commander Gree, 41st Elite Corps.”

He grins. The _vod_ can’t see it. “Well, Commander Gree Forty-First Elite Corps, maybe you don’t have clearance,” he replies and goes back inside the ship.

What happens if Maul doesn’t make it?

When it’s time, he turns off the bacta tank and takes Maul out. Schutta and Dogma are outside the medbay. He can hear Dogma’s boots on the floor, pacing back and forth, back and forth. He carefully lies Maul down on the operating table. The bacta soaks his blacks. He hates the smell. He sits on the floor and waits. Stat doesn’t say anything.

One hour later, the perimeter alarms are triggered again. It’s the kid, this time. Stat goes. He comes back with her in tow. She bows to him in greeting. He nods. She looks at Maul and he sees in her eyes the same thing he sees in Stat’s. She must be a healer. 

“We are running low on supplies as it is. I can spare the Tranqarest and bacta patches but not much else. I’m sorry, Twenty.” She shakes her head. “ _Stat_ ,” she whispers like an apology. There’s something about the way she looks at him when she says it, sad and pitying, that makes him narrow his eyes.

“It’s alright,” the medic says. “We’ll make a detour to Kaliida Shoals after our assignment.”

When she leaves, he can’t stop himself from asking.

“Twenty?”

Stat shrugs. “We met in the Rimsoo on Mimban. Didn’t have my name yet.” He avoids his gaze, keeps his hands occupied. “She was the other Padawan there.”

What happens to them if Maul doesn’t make it?

After Stat’s third mission with them and his first one with Vos, they decided to drink until only one would stand. They were safe within the confines of _Scimitar_ , in the karking middle of nowhere, right next to nothing, and Maul would keep watch. He’s a Zabrak _and_ a Jedi; they would all die of alcohol poisoning if they tried to outdrink him.

The conversation, like it usually does when the majority of the participants are clones, turned to their names. It’s supposed to be a happy thing to talk about; clones are often proud of the name they chose or were given. He didn’t really have one until he was taken out of stasis to shoot down B-1s with a Z-6 on Geonosis. The Alphas called him _mesh’la_ so one GAR officer decided it must be his name. He got named _Meisler_ because GAR officers don’t speak Mando’a and simply thought _mesh’la_ was a classic case of broken Basic. So there he was. Alpha-28. “Meisler.”

He hated it on the spot.

At least he’s not named _Alpha._ It’s a small consolation but one nonetheless. 

“He chose my name,” Schutta said, slapping his chest with a heavy hand. “He thought it would be funny.”

“Schutta?” Stat asked, blinking slowly and swaying a little. 

“No, _Shooter._ It’s a running joke, then. We’re already three with the wrong names.”

Schutta chose his name when he was still shorter than Maul. He dubbed himself _Shuk'la_. He chose it because his training officer kept muttering it when he reviewed his squad. He didn’t understand Mando’a at the time but he liked the sound of it. He learned it meant _broken_ when all of his squad but him were sent for reconditioning. He never saw them after that. He dropped the name. No one knew except for Ponds, Neyo and him. Neyo decided to call him _shu’shuk_ to reappropriate it. _Nu shuk’la a’ner shu’shuk_ , he used to say with pride. When he started training under him, he decided to go by the name Schutta. _Shu’shuk_ would be for the select few. Schutta would be for the _vode._ Shooter would be for the files.

“Did you choose Commander Cody as well?”

“No, actually. I think the only time I saw him was on Kamino, when he was in 17’s program.” He doesn’t know the story behind it, only that 17 calls him Kote and hates it when he suggests they may be related by the power of mispronounced names. “I’m still proud of him, anyway. He’s a good son, making a good _name_ for us.”

“What about me? _He_ doesn’t even know you,” Schutta said petulantly. “I don’t even care. You’re my least favorite _vod_ , anyway.” 

Now, that was uncalled for.

“Then who’s your favorite?” he growled. “Who’s he? Tell me, now. I’m going to fight that _chakaar_.”

Schutta grinned, eyes full of poodoo. He pointed with his bottle to the culprit, whose back was to them, eyes fixed to the cockpit window.

“That’s—that’s _unfair_ ,” he protested. “Maul! Who’s your favorite?”

“Do I really have to choose one?”

“Yes,” they said in unison and proceeded to glare at each other.

“Alright,” he replied, still staring at the void of space. “Kesso’s my favorite.”

“Kesso’s not a _vod_.”

“Still my favorite.”

“Fine,” he concluded, taking a gulp of that foul drink Schutta found on their last mission. It tasted like bacta mixed with salt water. He hated it. He took another gulp. “ _Kesso_ will be the one to put Mace Windu on hold from now on. Stat. Your turn.”

Stat chose his name. For all of his time in Tipoca City, he didn’t have one. Most of the _vode_ in his previous squad didn’t have names before they died. He chose his right before his transfer to Kaliida Shoals, paying homage to someone.

“Her name is Staati,” he said with reverence in his voice. “She is a Padawan. She worked with us and another Padawan in the Rimsoo on Mimban.”

“And what was she like?” Schutta asked. Stat smiled.

“The purest soul I’ve ever met. She felt like the sun on Kamino.” Schutta snorted.

“Inexistant?” he retorted. He chuckled when Stat elbowed him. The medic stayed silent for a while. He looked at his bottle and shook his head.

“Liberating,” he said with sorrow. “I don’t think I would’ve survived Mimban without her. She taught me a lot. There’s so much stuff they don’t cover on Kamino, you know. I’m thinking— After, well, the war and everything. Maybe I could—” he shrugged. “I don’t expect her to remember me but I’d like to thank her and—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. After a while, Schutta shouldered him hard enough to make him sway dangerously and nudged him with his forehead the way Maul usually does with his horns.

“Eh, you can still try. Who knows, right?”

He looked her up afterwards. Staati Whaea—Padawan to Master Laan Tik, who died on Mimban. Her file says she was sent to the other side of the galaxy before the end of the battle but, oddly, there’s no apparent reason as to why. They drastically lacked healers on Mimban so the move was surprising to say the least, unless she volunteered. It could be understandable, since she lost her Master there, that she would want to go as far away as she could. A couple of months after Mimban, she was offered Knighthood but chose to leave the Order. War isn’t for everyone; he understands that.

“Stat suits you very well,” Maul commented. The medic beamed and they left it at that.

On the operating table between them, Maul is still. They’ve been on the _Tranquility_ for fourteen hours. He waits.

What happens to him if Maul doesn’t make it?

“Corporal; would you rather live on Pantora with a gorgeous Naboo who doesn’t have the brains to go with the physique or live on Naboo with an incredibly clever Pantoran who hates lakes?”

Stat glances back at him and huffs. He stays silent for a while, puts a hand on his chin. “I’ll live with the Pantoran,” he settles on. “There are mountains far away from the lakes on Naboo and I really hate swamps.”

“Don’t you like the marshes of Pantora? How marvelous your Naboo would be compared to them?”

He snorts. “Hard pass. What about you, Commander, sir?”

“The Naboo. We’ll be the most gorgeous couple in our little swampland. We’ll have gorgeous little swamp monsters.”

He looks down and is met by two golden eyes looking back at him.

“Swamp monsters?” Maul rasps, with a smile on his face hiding the pain. Neither him nor Stat is fooled by it.

“Swamp monsters,” he confirms. “Or we could steal Stat’s idea and raise our own on top of a mountain on Naboo. Just say the word, sir.”

“ _Mesh’la_.” He always sounds aggravated when he says it like that. No one else says it like that.

“What? Don’t ask me to behave, it’s only us here.”

Maul closes his eyes and grins. It looks strained but no one comments on it.

Will someone remember Mesh’la if Maul doesn’t make it?

“You say that to all the Jedi, Commander.”

“Well, yes but come on, sir,” Mesh’la complains but returns his grin. He taps two fingers on his _Jetii_ ’s forehead just because he can. “ _Maul’_ s fair in love and war.”

*

“You up for the challenge, soldier?” 

“Yes, sir,” he answers the Commander, raising his chin. The latter stares at him then exchanges looks with the Captain.

“It won’t be easy, _vod_ ,” the Commander tells him. “We’re talking about brothers, here.”

“I know. But we don’t really have a choice, right?”

“I don’t like this plan,” the Captain murmurs. “All this sneaking around.”

The Commander shrugs. “We can’t really go in guns blazing, can we? They’re not the enemies. We’re talking about brothers, here. I don’t want to go against Maul any more than you do. I’m sure Fives here would rather not attack his squad either.”

He really wouldn’t. 

The weirdest thing happened. One moment, he was watching Echo interact with the others inside the LAAT/i and, the other, Fives saw the _Service with a Smile_ taking off and realized he was alone, on a clearing, 1.3 klick from DZ. He tried to contact the others but no one answered—not even Rex. He headed to RV only to find the Sarge there. He could vaguely recall Rex jumping after Jesse fell off the LAAT/i but had no memories of Echo and Tup.

The Sarge’s a weird brother. Kept muttering on his own, the vocoder on but all the words coming out scrambled. It was weird. Why turn on the vocoder if you’re talking in-comm? 

His right leg was throbbing. He took a quick glance, assessing what the kark was wrong with it and gingerly put gloved fingers on a shard the size of his thumb, lodged in the meat of his thigh. What the heck? How long had it been there?

The Commander met them up and they decided to look for his squadmates, the Sarge staying put in case one of them showed up. That’s when the weirdest thing happened. One moment, they were walking towards DZ and, the next, a ship appeared out of nowhere.

“Whoa,” he exclaimed. “Now, _that’_ s what I call stealth.”

Two _vode_ got out, each on a speeder. One of them was Dogma. The paint job was new, dark with red accents, but the pattern was definitely the same. The other one was a complete surprise. Phase-II armor, the old Captain-red on white paint, a red pauldron and a starking set of red Jaig Eyes on the helmet. Every _vod_ knows him. Standing before him was Captain kriffing Fordo, leader of the Muunilinst 10 and the _vod_ who gave his name to Torrent’s favorite kind of strategy—simple, straightforward and with all the firepower the GAR can give them. 

Fives took the couple of steps separating him from Dogma and tapped their helmets together. “Good to see you, brother,” he said with a grin on his face. It took him a moment to reply but Fives felt even more happier when he heard him say _You too._ He turned towards the other brother and saluted. “Captain Fordo, it’s an honor to meet you.”

The _vod_ nodded, a bit awkward, like he didn’t know how to respond. He looked a bit like Echo does when he’s the center of attention. “You did well on Kamino, protecting our _vod’ike_ ,” he answered. Fives tried not to react. His voice was odd. It didn’t really sound like a brother's. He knew already that it wouldn’t–it’s not really a kept secret that ARC-77 had an unforeseen mutation–but hearing it for real was still weird. The Captain turned his helmet to the Commander and signed _Against the chrono_ in the hand signal Alpha taught Fives and Echo during ARC training. He raised his brows.

The Commander went inside the ship while they waited. He came back with a speeder. This one looked heavily modified. “Hop in,” he said. Fives did and they went, the ship disappearing again behind them. They passed a couple of houses. They all looked abandoned. They were nearing a village; at the center was a big temple thing. It looked ancient. Fives had no idea what religion it was built for. It wasn’t on the dossier he got. Neither was the village but it wasn’t very surprising. Most of the time, the intel they get for missions on backwater planets like this one is complete banthashit; terrain specs are karking decades old and no one really bothers to check if things have changed since then. He always tries not to think about how many times he saw brothers die because they weren’t adequately equipped to deal with whatever karking surprising shit those planets have.

“Uh, sir,” he started to shout, alarms ringing in his mind. “That’s the base, right?”

The closer they got and the more dreadful he felt. That was the base they were supposed to take over. Why would Captain Fordo drive them straight to it?

They stopped less than one klick from it and Captain Fordo made a Yirt-turn, took his scopes in hand and surveyed the horizon behind them. “Clear,” he said, turning back again and they sped through the remaining meters separating them from the base.

The B1s at the entry point had been shot to pieces. The gates were halfway open, as if someone had forced their way in. Fives watched the other walk towards it and stayed on the speeder.

“Hang on,” he said. “Someone explains to me what we are doing here.”

They were supposed to look for his squad. What the kark was going on? The three brothers acted as if this was all planned already, like Fives should know as well. 

“You want answers?” the Captain asked but didn't wait for him to reply. He turned back and signed _All_ _Proceed_ , pointing at the base.

“It will all make sense,” Dogma said softly, an extended hand towards him, walking back to him. “It’s difficult to explain. It’s better you see it yourself.”

Captain Fordo clears his throat, snapping Fives back to the present. He has his visor turned to him, expecting him to refuse to go with the plan, even after he saw himself why they need to do it.

“I understand why we have to do this,” he confirms, jaw set, looking at both the Captain and the Commander. “I can do it.”

“Attaboy,” Mesh’la rumbles under his breath. “Let me take care of Maul.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Our biggest problem is going to be Schutta. If he stays with Maul, there’s high chance the plan will go sideways fast.”

The Captain signs a question. Fives has only known him for a couple of hours but he can already say without a shadow of a doubt that this brother isn’t one for small talk.

“Why don’t we bring him here, then?” Fives asks. Dogma shakes his head.

“He doesn’t respond to us,” Hevy tells him. His face twists in anger and he taps a fist on his own chest, rattling the white plastoid. “It’s like we don’t exist!”

“Hey, now, brother,” he says and puts a hand on his vambrace soothingly. “We’ll find a way, alright?”

“We need to split into teams and I’ll take Schutta with me. We’ll take the first shift,” the Commander declares. He juts out his chin at Fordo and asks, “You took care of the rest?” The Captain nods in confirmation. “Well, then. We’ll head back towards base.”

Fives follows the Commander, Dogma at his side and hops on one of the speeders. He stops moving when he feels a hand clasping his shoulder guard. He turns to Hevy and grins.

“Can’t wait for Echo to see you,” he says and Hevy laughs. 

After the battle on Tipoca City, Rex sent Echo and him straight to Alpha, knowing war wasn’t going to wait for them. Clones need less time than natborns to go through training and Alpha’s program is now tailored for cases like them; brothers who weren’t bred to become ARCs but who were pushed to go with the flow, to adapt and thrive in a way the long necks had not anticipated. They had twelve weeks to achieve a standard that had required half a year for clones made to become ARC. Twelve weeks—less than two standard months to fill in the ranks of the elite, fill in for brothers who kept dying despite the misconception shared by every regular cadet that these were the brothers who were invincible. 

Alpha’s training was painful, hard, and, frankly, without Echo? Fives isn’t sure he would’ve made it. The first free evening they had when they didn’t feel like all the limbs in their bodies wouldn’t respond no matter what, they went back to the barracks to check out the pods Domino Squad used to sleep in. It was weird to see brothers settled there like they had been before them. Echo stayed tense and silent through the whole ordeal.

When they went back to their pods–ARC pods, made slightly larger because these brothers were grown bulkier than the regular troopers–Fives took off his uppers and slept like this, just because he could. The comfort of a pod, of being enclosed while sleeping, was something he’d missed. Barracks on the _Resolute_ were made to fit as many brothers as possible within a tight space without hindering them. If the Cruiser is under attack, they need enough space to put on their armors and fight–no more, no less–and pods aren’t efficient for quick actions. On Tipoca City, pods were the only bunks clones knew before deployment and sleeping in an enclosed space like that one, with the soothing blue light of the control panel, was a luxury he was grateful to be able to indulge in. 

He was already half asleep when the blue light switched to red and he felt his pod being opened. He kept his eyes closed and his whole body relaxed, trained by Alpha to adapt before his mind can catch up, ready to pounce on a threat before they can even react. He heard a whispered _Fives_ and his heart started rattling against his rib. He knows Echo’s voice, knows how it sounds when he whispers, when he shouts and when he laughs. Sometimes he thinks he knows it more than his own. Echo’s voice is the only one he wants to hear every time he wakes up and the last one he wants to hear before he falls asleep; it’s the one he wants to hear repeat orders and regs even when he doesn’t ask for them. He can’t sleep in a pod outside of Kamino but he knows he will fall asleep anywhere, even on the battlefield, if that voice tells him he can. 

Fives isn’t the only one whose body had been finely tuned to be more than what it was supposed to be; Echo’s movements were quick and, before he could even ask what the kark was going on, his pod was tucked back again, Echo lying down next to him, his breath sending goosebumps to his bare shoulder.

_Echo?_ he whispered, oddly rattled by the close quarters and the enclosed space. He looked back at his brother and stopped breathing when he felt a hand on his cheek and saw the haunted look in his eyes. _Echo?_

They’ve always been the closest of brothers, him and Echo. Even when Domino was still trying to find out how they could all work together, they were the ones who knew they’d stick together no matter what. On Rishi, when they heard the telltale sound of the particle shield raising for the first time, Echo ran out of the barracks and Fives followed him, even though they were off duty and supposed to sleep. They went to the command center and Echo took the stairs two at a time to the transparisteel windows. He put his hands on the closest one and stared at the sky. Fives stepped next to him, looked at the meteors illuminating the barren land of Rishi then back at Echo when he heard him laugh in delight. He heard the jeers and taunts of their brothers downstairs but paid them no mind. He watched Echo’s face, the way his eyes shone and the way his smile showed the dimples none of the other brothers he knew had and his heart started hammering in his chest. A cold, horrible realization dawned on him and he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. Right at that instant, Fives realized he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to latch onto his arm, make him look at him, kiss his laugh and bask in his happiness. _Fives? You alright?_ Echo asked and he blinked, looking at the frown on the other man’s face. _Shield’s raised, brother. We’re safe_ , Echo said and he took a quick step back when the other raised a hand towards him, ignoring the way Echo’s eyes widened. He mumbled an apology and retreated to the barracks like a coward. He didn’t sleep that night, his mind going over and over the memory of Echo’s face illuminated by the meteor shower and his hands shaking with the realization that they weren’t on Kamino anymore. They couldn’t break formation.

It happened again, and again—times when Fives’ traitorous heart reminded him how much he loved Echo but he kept it to himself. They couldn’t break formation, too close to command, too close to Captain Rex for it to be left unnoticed. He had hoped, for a time, when they came back to Kamino; maybe, in the mess, he could imply something or, after curfew, be bolder and go to Echo’s pod. In most of the sims he ran in his mind, however, Echo rejected him. _Brothers don’t break formation_ , that’s the number one rule, as important as _you don’t leave a brother behind._ Even if–and that was a big if–Echo reciprocated, it didn’t mean he would ever act on it. They’d heard the stories, the rumors; they’d heard what happened to Jesse’s previous squadmates, what happened to some of the brothers in the 87th, or why supposedly some of the CCs are colder than the deep waters of Kamino.

_Kiss me_ , Echo whispered fervently and Fives’ heart threatened to give up. He looked at his face, bathed in the blue light of the pod, the same shade of blue of every clone’s HUD, at the way his eyelashes fluttered and the way he looked back at him and Fives’ throat constricted. He was ready to say no, to remind him why they couldn’t. How ironic, that Fives was the one who needed to remind them about the regs. _Please_ , Echo whispered, broken, and he stopped thinking. _Fives_ , he begged and he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to; he closed his eyes and the gap between them. He pulled him roughly against him and swallowed his gasp. He deepened the kiss without even thinking about it or the consequences, pushed on Echo’s blacks and pulled them over his head, started leaving trails of kisses on his neck. He put his hands on the other’s hips and pulled him flush against him, flipped them so he was on top and bit down on Echo’s lower lip, eliciting a startled moan and a full body shiver out of him. Fives’ hands started roaming over the other’s chest, over his narrow hips and his mouth latched on to a nipple, squeezing a deep groan out of him. He reveled in the way the other man’s neck arched, at each pants and gasps he could get out of him, at the tortuous friction of his hips canting. He kept trailing lower, empowered by the litany of moans and whimpered _Fives_ echoing in the pod, pushed the offending blacks off and—

“Ugh, I don’t need to see that, you karking meathead,” Hevy complains, wrinkling his nose and Fives chuckled.

“Alpha pulled my pod out the morning after and threw a bucket of sea water on us,” he snickers. “He kept saying Pod 28 was cursed with residual energy.”

“I don’t want to know. Just go the kark away.”

“Yes, sir,” he complies sarcastically and drives back to the ship.

  
  


Several hours later, driving back to the base with an unconscious Echo flushed against him, it dawns on Fives that he will do anything for Echo to survive. There’s no reg, no rank nor moral code that could stop him from acting if it meant Echo would eventually be okay. He carries him inside, followed by Dogma carrying Tup and the Captain steps out to help out Mesh’la with Jesse and Schutta. He puts Echo gently on one of the bunks, takes his helmet off and Hevy walks to them. 

“I’ll be karked,” the latter scoffs. “Of course he hasn’t changed a thing.”

“Still prettier than you,” Fives retorts and ducks when his brother tries to slap him. They turn back when the Captain arrives with Jesse on his shoulder. “Oooh, subtle,” Hevy comments, pointing at the tattooed cog. 

“Subtler than you,” the Captain mumbles and Fives can’t stop the laugh escaping from him. The former fidgets, his visor set on the exit and Hevy stares at him like he can’t believe what he heard. The Commander comes in and puts his arm around the Captain’s shoulders.

“As you can see, Ford’ika, it went well, despite your complete lack of faith in my plan.” The Captain stiffens but doesn’t push Mesh’la’s arm off him. “I suggest retrieving the dark ones and turning on the beacons.”

“We can’t activate the dark ones,” Dogma says, taking one last assessing glance at Tup. “Kesso will report to Maul as soon as he’s got intel from his siblings.”

“That little menace probably showed him Bodee’s feed already,” the Commander mutters. “Or he will as soon as Maul wakes up.” His head straightens, helmet unmoving in the way brothers do when they check their HUD. “Which will be sooner rather than later. I didn’t give him a high dosage.”

“Then let’s move out,” the Captain declares and goes to the speeders, without waiting for a response. The Commander shakes his helmet towards Dogma.

“I swear there’s a nice, soft _vod_ behind that shell. I swear. He’s just too awkward and doesn't want others to see it.”

“ _Do pateesa ma pateesa_ ,” Dogma answers. 

“Whoa, wait,” Fives exclaims. “You speak _Huttese_?”

“A bit,” Dogma says stiffly. “It helps working undercover.”

“You and I need to talk some time. I feel like I’ve got a whole lot to catch up on.” He sees the Captain glaring in the doorway and looks at the Commander. “I think you should go, sir.”

“Alright, mom, I’m coming,” Mesh’la snarks in the way civilians do in trashy holodramas. The Captain ignores him. They walk outside. “Would it kill you to be nice, baby?”

“I am nice,” is the monotonous answer. Fives hears the speeders go off. 

  
  


When Echo wakes up, everything goes to shit. They’re deep inside the base, in the room right next to Schutta’s in case they need to restrain him as well. The Sarge didn’t take; he keeps trying to attack Hevy, has twice taken a blaster from one of them to run away and has been a major karking pain since he woke up. Jesse and Tup are okay; they mostly hide the way they’re awed by the Captain under bravado–just like he does, really–and Tup is particularly happy to be able to talk to Hevy. Fives told him a lot about him, about Domino in general and even Rishi. 

Fives feels the moment Echo comes back to consciousness. He shifts a bit, his head lulling on his thigh and his mouth does a little twist. He can’t stop himself if he wants to; his fingers brush Echo’s hair and he smiles when he opens his eyes blearily.

“Fives?” he asks, confused, and he bends over to kiss him. Echo closes his eyes, sighs, and responds in earnest. 

They hear a deep, booming sound from far away all of a sudden, similar to a seismic charge, and Fives feels like something tears into his chest and rips his heart out. He screams in agony and falls down on the floor. A thousand needles pierce through him, an increasing ringing noise in his ears and he can’t see, blinded by pain and the sheer sense of terror coursing through him. His whole body starts spasming, muscles rigid and he doesn’t know if he’s still yelling, if the shriek he can hear is him or something else. Something claws at his flesh, trying to keep its grip on him and he can’t breathe anymore, drowning in water and suffocating in the vacuum of space at the same time and he thinks _this is it_ and the fear of dying is nothing compared to the thought of leaving Echo on his own. He takes a single gulp of air, chokes on it and his body burns from the inside out; his vision whites out and then—nothing.

The galaxy falls silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- shebs: backside, rear, buttocks  
> \- nu shuk’la a’ner shu’shuk: you’re not broken but you’re my disaster  
> \- Ford’ika: lit. little Fordo (and not _Frodo_ , despite the number of times I’ve typed his name incorrectly, poor soul)
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- e chu ta: an insult with no definitive translation. How rude!  
> \- do pateesa ma pateesa: lit. your friend my friend
> 
> what do you mean fordo isn’t canon? you mean my boy is a freakin l e g e n d because bro kicks names and takes ass? cos thats the only thing i accept


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MEANWHILE IN THE GALAXY; where is jon antilles? is he deep undercover in CIS territory? throwing homemade stink bombs at jabba’s palace? dismantling the zygerrian slave trade? eating a greasy burger at dex’s? or maybe he’s still playing hide and don’t seek, hoping maul will become the perfect, healthy, detached jedi who doesn't catch feelings because that’s what they should be, even if they both suck at it? who knows. i vote for stink bombs. that’ll teach jabba to put a bounty on his boy.

The hologram of 17 appears. He looks like he wants to murder him. Mesh’la bats his eyelashes.

“ _Oya_ , my darling lov—”

“Don’t,” 17 snaps. “Just _don’t._ Why the kark do my ARCs keep asking me about you?”

He smiles but stays silent. 17 doesn’t budge. After a minute, Mesh’la starts to fidget. 17 doesn’t even blink. Ah, poodoo. He forgot his brother is more stubborn than he is. This _chakaar_ doesn’t care if silence stretches for eternity. He relents. 

“Must be my animal magnetism,” he says with a shrug. “Can’t say I blame them.” He grins and bites his lip. 17 stiffens. “Can you?”

It’s his biggest advantage over the other Alpha-class. 17 has charisma, 26 has strength, 98 has patience, 30 had smarts—Mesh’la has a smile no one else has. Even Fett didn’t have it but he made sure 28 knew how to use it whenever it would gain him an advantage over an opponent. There used to be two people in the galaxy who were immune to it. Fett died on Geonosis. There’s only one person left now and 17 isn’t him.

“Stop,” 17 growls. “What the kark are you doing? You’re rattling my ARCs and I don’t like it.”

“Ah, you know,” he rumbles. “Fighting the fight, all that poodoo, right?” He shrugs. “Who’s asking? Are they cute?”

“Yesterday, Gree called me all flustered and asked about you. _Gree. Flustered._ Do you know how rare that is? He _never_ calls. If he does, he’s always, _always_ calm and collected. And now I just had a conversation with my CT.” Ah, kark. Mesh’la can pretty much get away with messing up his ARCs but the CT has always been off limits. He knew that Captain was going to be a problem. He had hoped the _vod_ was SiC to Skywalker because the _Jetii_ liked him well enough to kark with the ranks but he should’ve known better. “What the kark did you do to him?”

“Baby, I didn’t know it was _your_ CT,” he answers truthfully. “How was I supposed to? You couldn’t have told me he was blond?” Leave it to 17 to tell him everything about the karking CT he decided to take under his wing except that the karking _vod_ was blond compared to, oh say, ninety-nine point nine percent of all their brothers. “Oh, wait. Is that a paint job? Kids, these days, I swear. Your ARC here has two red stripes on his head. The stripes are his _hair._ His _hair._ The kark the aiwha-baits put in his cloning vat?” He knows what it means; it’s for fallen brothers but—kriff. It’s _ugly._ Even _he_ wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

“ _Mesh’la,_ ” 17 growls. He’s got a vein throbbing in his left temple. “Stop messing with my ARCs, you kriffing _chakaar_.”

“Fierfek, you’re hot when you’re angry,” he purrs. “I haven’t done anything.” He raises his eyebrows but can’t stop himself from adding, “Yet.”

17 sighs heavily and puts a hand on his face. “I don’t know how he can put up with you all the time,” he whispers. Mesh’la doesn’t react.

_Keep that up and you’ll never get out of stasis,_ 26 used to say. _Why can’t you stop being such a scumbag?_ He threw 26 on the mat with all his strength and sneered _I won’t roll on my back for stupid monks who know nothing about war._

_Are all_ Jetiise _like you?_ he asked Maul when they took off Tipoca City that first time. _What do you mean?_ He grinned and went for cheeky. _Gorgeous but unhinged, I guess._ Maul rolled his eyes. _It’s been a long time since I’ve been among Jedi,_ he told him after a while.

Mesh’la wonders, sometimes, what if Maul never came to Kamino. At the very best, he thinks the aiwha-baits might have made an exception just for him and put him in the sleep tank. Most likely, he would’ve been wiped as soon as the _Jetiise_ weren’t looking. He’s a good trainer and they need training officers now more than ever but he’s also enough of a _shabuir_ for the _Kaminiise_ to choose stasis over anything else.

“I ask myself that everyday,” he muses, all traces of humor gone from his voice. 17 freezes and stares at him. Mesh’la rolls his eyes. “Shut your mouth,” he grunts.

His brother complies. He almost wants to cut down the transmission right this instant but he knows he owes him that much.

They never got along back when they were cadets. 17 was too stuffy and conformist for his taste. All his brothers were, actually. It’s no wonder he got along with a _Null_ of all people when none of his brothers could. It’s only when they started live-fire that he really took him into consideration. 17 was vicious; his mind was as sharp as 30’s but he got an edge of insanity that 30 lacked. He jumped 17 in the barracks after their first exercise together just to see how he would react. He was sent to the medbay with a broken collarbone and a severe concussion. He kept doing it again and again until one night when, out of nowhere, he decided to crawl back to 17’s pod instead of his own after yet another trip to the medbay. 17 said nothing. He didn’t kick him out. And when he kept coming back, he never kicked him out—even if he’d beaten him bloody the day before. They would train together, he would start a fight, get sent to medical then crawl back into 17’s pod.

“We got a mission and we need manpower. We worked with one of his men before. Good ARC, adapted well to us. It’s not something we can be pissy about these days,” he admits. “He’s one of your new batches. Echo.”

“Who?”

“Baby,” he says, smelling banthashit and utterly unable to roll with it. “You know every single one of your little monsters by name, designation, ration preferences and sleeping habits. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“Yeah, well, I’m never going to tell them that,” 17 mumbles. “General Ti told me about Kivan.”

Mesh’la hums. There’s not many _vode_ left now who knew him before Maul. There’s even less who knew him because he trained them himself. Kivan was one of the last ones. Now, there’s only Schutta and Fordo left. 

“Seen Fordo lately?”

“No. I heard his guys are helping out the Marines now,” 17 replies gracefully. Mesh’la wants to punch him. “Thire called. He’s been asking about you.”

“How—,” his throat feels dry. He ignores it. “Did he call me—“

17 shakes his head. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” he grits. “Shut your mouth, _Alpha_.”

The silence stretches.

“You could call sometimes,” that _shabuir_ says. “I’m always the one calling. Why is that?” Here they go again. He stops himself from rolling his eyes. It will only fuel him more. “It’s like you don’t care. You’ve got your _Jetii_ now so all of us can go kark ourselves. You’re ungrateful.”

“OK brother.”

“Oh, _kark you._ Don’t you _OK brother_ me, you karkin—”

“OK brother.”

“You know what? Fine. Don’t call. I don’t want you to call. You just piss me off every time. I forgot, that’s my fault and—stop smiling, you _chakaar_ ,” 17 sneers. “Go kark yourself, Mesh’la. Don’t break my CT and stay away from my ARCs from now on.”

“Does Kote count?”

“What?”

“Well, he may be your ARC but he’s called by the wrong name, just like me,” he comments. “You might say he’s our love child.” 17 cuts off the transmission. Well. He didn’t say no. 

Mesh’la turns off his comlink and watches his _Jetii_ in the tank before him. They had to put Maul back under. His hands are shaking. They shouldn’t be. Most of the time, he almost forgets how small he is. In the tank, he looks vulnerable. Mesh’la hates it. 

In two hours, he’ll have to brief the 501st men. He already sent the relevant bits of info Dogma picked out from the karking mess the Black Sun defector gave them. He knows that briefing will mostly be a formality. Still. This will be their first contact with Dogma’s former squadmates. He needs to be careful.

Unfortunately, he’s never been careful. He bulldozed his way everywhere for most of his life until he met Maul and realized some things required to be delicate. It’s no wonder the _vode_ he trained are as inconspicuous as tanks. 

_Fearless,_ the young CTs used to say about him, whenever they sneaked into the Alpha training room. _Undisciplined_ , the aiwha-baits wrote about him, whenever he was summoned for yet another examination, his body poked and probed and not quite his own, weighted and measured and put under scrutiny, searching for unforeseen mutations and flaws that could be corrected. _Dangerous_ , 66 had sneered in his ear, after their first live-fire, with a feral grin and a heated gaze, setting a precedent for all the other Alpha-class, leading them to watch 28 more closely, see what makes him different. _Beautiful_ , 30 had whispered on his skin, one night after climbing into his pod, smarter than the others, already knowing what set him apart, even though he himself hadn’t known yet. _Useful_ , Fett had commented the morning after, his eyes assessing and the corners of his mouth tilted downwards, deep in thought and already calculating how to weaponize a newly-discovered skill. 

28 worked on his smile like he had on any other muscle or skill; he practiced, again and again, on the Alpha-class, the _Cuy’val Dar,_ the targets he was sent for before Geonosis, and the mission objectives. His smile now comes with different tones, different purrs and gestures—a full set of skills almost honed to perfection. He smiles, touches, looks and watches; sometimes he goes beyond. It rarely failed him; with Fett, he could never get away with whatever bantha poodoo he did with a smile or a suggestion. With the other Alpha-class, it’s easy and he doesn’t really care; a simple smile works with 17 but he needs to do a bit more with 26. With 30, he always needed the full set but it worked. The _Cuy’val Dar_ requires more finesse but he always finds a way with those he trained under. With the CTs and the ARCs, hero worship helps a lot. With the Jedi, it’s a question of knowing where the boundaries are. 

His smile works on everyone but Fett and Maul. If he wants something from the latter, his skills aren’t worth poodoo. He’s tried, again and again, and they failed him every time. He hates that it doesn’t work. He hates the idea that some day it could even more.

Mesh’la could, technically, try to bully Skywalker into leaving things well alone and stop being so karking annoying but he doesn’t think it would be a good idea. He thought about going for seduction but—well, you shouldn’t seduce Jedi who don’t want to be seduced, according to 17, and Dogma would be very traumatized if he did. He doesn’t want to traumatize Dogma. At least, not that much. 

He stands guard over the bacta tank and waits. General Unduli is getting impatient; next time Mesh’la takes his _Jetii_ out of the tank, he won’t be able to stop her from seeing him. When Maul was conscious, he was mostly out of it and barely comprehending what was going on but Mesh’la saw the exact moment Master Unduli used her _Jetii_ woo-woo to connect–or whatever the kark they call it–with him. It wasn’t something blatant or obvious but Maul’s eyes widened for an instant and he stopped breathing. Mesh’la knows Master Antilles kept his Padawan far away from Coruscant during his apprenticeship and Maul never returned to the Core even after being knighted. He could have; no one stopped him from doing so but he didn’t. When the war broke out, he had multiple opportunities to return or even seek his fellow Jedi but he didn’t. Apart from Windu and Yoda, they don’t see many. They teamed up with Vos in the past and there was that weird time when they had to bring intelligence directly to General Secura. Each of the other Jedi they encountered did not see them for more than a couple of hours so it hardly counts. Secura didn’t know Maul beforehand but it’s not very surprising; his _Jetii_ has never been one for temples and he’d been considered dead before the war. It’s probably much more difficult to keep contact with your fellow monks when they think you’re not alive anymore, Mesh’la thinks. Oh, well. If he wanted, Maul could have easily told them he wasn’t dead but he didn’t. It’s enough for Mesh’la to understand one thing; his _Jetii_ doesn’t want to see other _Jetiise_ , even if he doesn’t outright say it. 

If Maul doesn’t want to see them, then he won’t see them. Mesh’la will see to it whenever he can. It’s ironic that Antilles, the only one Maul wants to see, is the one avoiding him. 

Mesh’la has heard about General Unduli already; he knows his _Jetii_ used to be close to her when he was still in the temple crèche on Coruscant. There aren’t a lot of names Maul mentioned so Mesh’la has memorized all of them. The most recurring one is Kenobi; he doesn’t talk enough about him for the kids to pick up on it but Mesh’la is the _vod_ who knows him best. Kenobi is the most important one of them all and the one Maul takes extra precautions to avoid—even if he tries to hide it. There are others, like Tyvokka, who he thinks died before Maul left Coruscant, or even Plo Koon, who is probably the reason why his _Jetii_ speaks Kel Dor fluently. There’s also one ‘Kit’, who he suspects must be General Fisto, and ‘Depa’, Windu’s former apprentice; he’s mentioned Qui-Gon Jinn in passing once and speaks highly of a Guardian of the Whills who taught him two things Mesh’la would like to kiss him for—Zama-shiwo and how to wield his saberstaff. 

There’s been a lot of people in Maul’s life after Coruscant; recently he’s learnt about D’Pow who, as incredibly baffling as it sounds, Maul _kissed_ –and, oh, he’s never going to live that one down if Mesh’la has a say in this–but there’s also Skull Leader who taught him Mando’a and, of course, Maz Kanata. A myriad of people, all with different lives and experiences, but Maul never stuck close to one, always bouncing from one place to another, guided by some mystical power only the select few can sense. A myriad of people and he never stuck close to one for more than a couple months, the sole exception being Antilles. Now, they have him and Maul never did anything that would warrant worry he might leave but still. Antilles was his Master so it’s not surprising he stuck close to him but what are they? Maul introduces Mesh’la as _his_ Commander but, really, he isn’t. His _Jetii_ has no ties to the GAR; he could go on his merry way and leave him and his _vode_ if he felt like it. What was it about Mesh’la that made Maul decide to take him away from Tipoca City? Why him—why not another brother, one better suited for command or to deal with _Jetiise_?

Why Mesh’la—it’s a question that haunts him, that stops him from falling asleep from time to time. 

_What do you want to do after the war_ , Maul asked him once, after their fiasco on Er’Kit. Mesh’la, honestly, has no idea. He’s not sure anyone does. Thousands of brothers created for the sole purpose of defending the Republic and yet no one knows what the Republic is supposed to do with them if there’s no need to defend it. There is, of course, always a war and always will be—but one on such a massive scale? Unlikely. Thousands of brothers to feed and deal with and no one knows what will happen to them. After the war, what does he want, really? _I don’t know_ , he said and Maul nodded sagely. _It’s alright_ , he replied. _We will find out together_. 

It’s the certainty with which he said those words that scares Mesh’la. _Together_ , like Maul never intends to leave and, stupidly, when he said those words, Mesh’la believed him. Now, he looks at his _Jetii_ in the tank and sees the lie for what it was.

It’s supposed to be the other way around. Maul doesn’t understand it but it’s just the way it is; the clones were made to serve the Republic and, by extent, the Jedi; they were made to protect them. Warriors die in battle, go out in a blaze of glory; the _vode_ know they cannot control the way they will die but they all hope it will be on the battlefield. Warriors die in battle and yet Maul almost died in some dingey back alley on a rotten level of Nar Shaddaa. Just because Mesh’la couldn’t do the one kriffing single thing he was created for. 

_I failed you_ , he wants to say but he never will. His _Jetii_ wouldn’t understand; he knows him too well to think he would. After Er’Kit, he asked Maul to let him go when he himself will never be able to. What a karking hypocrite.

Two hours pass faster than expected and Mesh’la has to stop spiralling down into a mess of what ifs—what if 17 had been there instead of him, what if Mesh’la never left Maul to deal with Ventress on his own, what if Schutta never arrived on time, what if they came back too late to _Scimitar_. Dogma is already in the cockpit when he steps out of the lift, tucked away from the holopod’s range, in full armor. 

“I already told you I’ll play nice,” Mesh’la says aggravatingly. Dogma taps a finger on his helmet, where they have the external audio input. He checks his HUD and sighs, deactivating the vocal scrambler. He’ll never get used to it.

“I’m sure the briefing will go very well if they can’t understand you, sir,” the little poodoo snarks. He fidgets, making Mesh’la tense. “Please don’t hit on General Skywalker,” he says in a single breath, rushed. He can’t stop his booming laugh.

“That a challenge?” He can see his glare even with the bucket on and raises his hands. “Alright, alright. I won’t do it, I promise.” He starts punching in the code to start the transmission. “Oh, just so you know, they don’t know I’m the one who’s going to brief them.”

“What do you mean?” Mesh’la grins at the panic in his voice because he’s a karking _chakaar._

“I gave Skywalker a two-hour notice and I didn’t tell him who I was. He’s probably expecting Maul,” he says and opens the transmission right then to cut off whatever Dogma was about to say. Holograms appear around him. Hmm, it’s all of them. He looks at the Captain and checks him out. He's been able to find his face in the register but not his helmet. Jaig Eyes. Nice. On his other side stands Skywalker. He looks younger than expected. Kriff, those baby blues are really pretty. He’s almost disappointed he promised Dogma he won’t hit on him.

“General Skywalker, I presume?” he drawls and ignores _Vod’ika_ shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. The Jedi nods in confirmation and pouts. It is very cute.

“You must be Commander Meisler,” he replies. Heh. They’re always so proud when they get the name.

“‘S good to put a face to the name, I guess.” And a very cute one at that. He takes a quick glance at the other holograms. Within the cluster of brothers, he recognizes one. “ _Eyayah_ ,” he says with a grin and signs _Squad Acknowledge You._ He looks good. The ARC next to him clenches a fist and Echo stiffens.

“Sir,” he replies like a perfect soldier and signs back his hello. The other ARC stands like an Alpha-class. Larger than the others, powerful build and thighs made to behead B1s—he must be Fives. Is that an aiwha on his bucket? 17 always gives the worst descriptions.

“Shouldn’t Knight Maul be joining us?” Skywalker asks. 

“ _S_ _ir_ ,” Dogma whispers angrily to placate him before he can say anything. Mesh’la chuckles. The _vod_ knows him too well. 

“I am the highest-ranking officer in our squad and my men have already been briefed.” He shrugs. Dogma takes off his helmet and glares at him. “Sir,” he adds after a beat, too brusque to be polite. The _Jetii_ may be cute but he’s been a major karking pain in the _shebs._ It took Mesh’la _hours_ to go over the karking mess he left in his wake. 

Now that pleasantries have been exchanged, he starts the briefing. 

“These are the schematics for the Pershing. Intel suggests development started right after the first battle of Geonosis,” he comments. Dogma reviewed the logs the informant gave them himself; there’s no proof but he’d bet they started even before that. “This bad boy is all kinds of trouble. An AT-TE wouldn’t stand a chance against it.” 

_Your Jedi’s down, mando,_ their informant said when they arrived on _Scimitar_ , following him to the cockpit. Mesh’la had given Maul to Stat without even a second glance and already started calculating a quick exit. With a little bit of luck, the owners of the spaceport wouldn’t know Maul was there. If they did, they’d be karked before they could get out of Hutt space. _So are you_ , he heard Schutta say, followed by the telltale sound of a stun and a body falling on the floor. Mesh’la sat down on the pilot chair and hit up the engines. _Do we need him?_ Schutta asked, voice cold and distant. Mesh’la shook his head. _I’m putting him in the cargo hold._

“The first prototype was built there and tested on site,” he says, jutting his chin at the displayed base. “According to our intel, the first tests were done three standard weeks ago.”

“Who’s your source?” Skywalker asks.

_We need to get to a med station, quickly,_ Stat said, voice impassive over the speaker. Nothing betrayed him but Mesh’la could still hear how terrified he was. _Or the closest Cruiser you can find. He won’t make it otherwise._

_That Mirialan scum wasn’t worth it_ , Schutta spat. _None of that poodoo was worth it._

“Doesn’t matter,” he hears himself replying. Skywalker doesn’t relent.

“I beg to differ. How solid is your intel?”

_Right now, as solid as frozen carbonite_ , he wants to snap. “Solid enough. We can’t afford to wait any longer.” He turns to 17’s CT. “My squad is small. It’s great for stealth but, for an op this big, we need more men.” He points to _Eyayah_ with his helmet. “From what I’ve seen, your men will do the job.” Dogma signs _Halt_ but he ignores him. He addresses Skywalker heads on. “I understand your reticence, taking into account antecedent events, but I will respectfully ask you to stop hindering communication any further,” he says placatingly. “If you’re not satisfied with what’s already been decided, you can take it to your High Council. But I think we both already know how that’ll turn out, _sir,_ so stop questioning my methods and let me do my job.”

_He’ll survive,_ Stat told him after they put Maul in the tank for the first time. _You were fast enough._ Mesh’la looked at his _Jetii_ plunged in bacta and realized that, one day, he may have to keep going without him. _You’re supposed to outlive me,_ he wanted to yell.

_“Excuse me?”_ Skywalker’s mask falls off. Mesh’la sees anger and can almost taste it. His men are all gearing up for action even though he’s parsecs away from them. “You are requesting to send men _—my_ men from _my_ battalion _—without me_ for a mission that _screams_ covert ops and you expect me to—”

_I’ll be alright,_ Maul said, still unable to sit up on his own. He looked so small, vulnerable and Mesh’la hated it.

“This is not a request and I am not Krell,” he cuts in. All the _vode_ flinch, including Dogma. “Your men will be my men. They will be Maul’s. As long as they are under my command, they are my brothers and we don’t leave brothers behind.” 

_You could’ve died_ , Mesh’la replied in a rare moment of honesty. Maul had stared at him for a moment before whispering _But you would live._

“General,” he says slowly. He can’t mess this up. Dogma is putting on his bucket and starts pacing back and forth. He sighs. “We can continue dancing around each other or—” 

“You’re doing it all wrong, sir,” Dogma says aggravatingly. He shakes his head. 

“I have it perfectly under control, I’ll have you know,” he lies. 

_You don’t get to decide,_ he sneered. He’d never been angry with Maul before. _You don’t have the right to do that._

Dogma gets up and raises his hands slowly, as if coaxing a wild animal. “General Skywalker is not the enemy. He’s just being protective.”

“ _Vod_ ,” he sighs aggravatingly. He can do this on his own just fine. He’s not the one being a pain in the _shebs._ “He just needs to stop being so testy and let me do m—”

Mesh’la sees what the _vod’ika_ will do before he acts; he stops himself from reacting and lets Dogma’s hands push him on the side, lets him step into the holopod’s range and takes his place. The boldness is unexpected but there’s a swell of pride growing in his chest along with the mortification that Dogma just pushed him away in front of the others. He doesn’t care much for ranks and protocol himself but he knows Dogma does; it’s been drilled into him and he’s soaked in it when Mesh’la rejected it as much as he could without risking a full wipe. 

“General, sir,” his _vod’ika_ says with the most authoritative voice he can emulate. “I— I can vouch for Maul and the Commander, sir.” He takes off his helmet and Mesh’la freezes, afraid he’ll just do something stupid if he moves. He sees the way all the other _vode_ stiffen and he wants to put Dogma behind him and growl at them. “I know my voice holds no bearing on your decision,” he continues and Mesh’la can’t stop himself; he steps just a little bit closer to him, tries to convey silently that he will back him up no matter what. “But please consider the urgency of the mission, sir.”

It’s instantaneous; Skywalker gives him a simple, barely visible, tiny little smile and Dogma’s fire is all but extinguished. 

_One of my trainers gave me my name,_ Dogma told them on their way to Takodana. _Cort Davin—he was from Concord Dawn but he wasn’t a Mandalorian._ Mesh’la had known him; he was one of the training sergeants who worked along him in 17’s ARC program. Ex-Journeyman Protector, a man of moral principles who valued order and put the law above all else. To say they didn’t get along would be an understatement. At least, they both respected one another. Davin trained exceptional commanders, Bacara and Faie among them, and, even if he couldn’t stand Mesh’la, he admitted more than once that his methods were effective. They both gifted ARCs and commanders to the GAR who reflected their own personalities; Davin trained strict, militant loners who are by the book and the epitome of loyalty to the Republic whereas Mesh’la trained straightforward, protective brothers who won’t hesitate to flirt with insubordination if it can bring them results.

Dogma had trained under several members of the _Cuy'val Dar_ , too young to be deemed important enough to be picked by a single one. Like most of the younger batches, he’s been bounced around, trained to be loyal to the Jedi and, most importantly, obedient. It’s in moments like this that Mesh’la sees it all too clearly. It only takes one tiny thing, a single piece of evidence that the Jedi acknowledge him, for Dogma to fall back into the clone trooper he was raised to be. 

They raised him to have such an unwavering faith in the Jedi that Dogma fell victim to a bastard. So much belief in an order of peacekeeping monks that, even when entirely afraid and wary of Maul, he never, _never_ even considered defending himself. He had jumped, tensed, more than once at the beginning, but his hand never went to his weapon as a reflex and his body never adopted a defensive stance when spooked. Mesh’la _knows_ Maul would never hurt them but Dogma had no tangible proof; he could just hope that Maul would never harm him. 

_Dogma_ —coming from Davin, it was a praise, a token of approval. For Mesh’la, it isn’t.

He positions himself in front of Dogma and shields him from the others. He adopts the perfect stance of an Alpha-class ARC turned Commander and with that all the regalia that comes with it. 17 would be so proud. “The objectives are simple: take control of the base and find the blueprints. We need to know if there’s only one of them and if there’re plans in motion for mass prod. Captain Rex,” he turns to the _vod_ and sees him instinctively stand at attention, “Sergeant Schutta will meet you at the rendezvous point here. You will be briefed on site.”

The lift opens. Schutta steps out but stays in the shadows. Mesh’la glances at Skywalker, who nods silently, then takes a cursory glance at the other holograms. “We don’t expect any disturbance en route but stay sharp. Specs have been forwarded to your men. Be sure to be all on point,” he cautions. 

“Yessir,” the _vode_ answer. Schutta’s eyes narrow and he sits down where Dogma used to be. He signs _Clear_ and Mesh’la subtly relaxes. 

“Eredenn Prime is halfway through the night cycle from where the base stands. There will be no light for at least three standard months. Registered temperatures are usually between 0 to 3 standard. That doesn’t warrant rebreather hoods but you better bring thermal suits because I’m not sharing mine,” he comments and hits his mark when Echo chuckles. Teardrop is the only one who stays rigid. Mesh’la has an idea as to why he does. “The base has a signal jammer with a fifteen-kilometer radius. According to our source, they have no communication with the external world at all and use an encrypted closed-circuit comm system. We’ll use that to our advantage.” He lets them have a beat to digest his info dump. “Since the entire planet is aligned with the Seppies, we better be extra smooth on that one. I’m not saying to make it a quickie but we may have to escape through the bedroom window.” 

He watches every participant, takes note of the way each of them stand. Perhaps now Skywalker won’t be so much trouble. “Godspeed, brothers,” he concludes and cuts down the transmission. As soon as the holograms disappear, he takes off his helmet and glares at Dogma.

“It worked,” the _vod_ calmly tells him. At least he doesn’t sound smug.

“I don’t know if I should kiss you or throttle you,” he replies with eyes narrowed. Dogma squares his shoulders. “Maybe both.”

“ _Al’verde_ ,” Stat says from _Scimitar_ ’s comm system. He shakes his head at Dogma but still replies “I’m coming.”

They take Maul out of the tank and, this time, he doesn’t look like poodoo, even though he’s still not conscious. Mesh’la sits on the ground, his back to the wall, and suddenly exhaustion hits him like a Destroyer coming out of hyperspace. He closes his eyes for just a quick second but, when he opens them again, Maul is already up and halfway through getting dressed after a shower.

“Unfair,” he rasps, complaining. “I wasn’t looking—start back again.” Maul throws a glove at his visor but stays silent. Mesh’la takes the offending garment in his hand and keeps it when the Jedi makes a gesture to have it back. “Did you know Nautolans exchange gloves when they want to marry?”

”Do they—” his eyes squint. “You are making this up.”

“Well, they could. It would be fun. Let’s make it a thing and maybe they’ll follow through.”

“You do realise this is Stat’s glove.”

The medic, doing whatever he usually does in the medbay, looks back at them and scowls. “We are not getting married, sir.”

“Why not?” he exclaims, feigning offense. “I’m a good match. I’ll take very good care of your gear, I’ll always take point and I promise I’ll clean your blaster _thoroughly_ every night before bed. I’ll follow your lead real good, I swear. I’ll do whatever you want! I can shield or blast whenev—“

“ _Mesh’la,_ ” the other two responds in unison. He snickers.

“You’re missing out, _vod,_ ” he comments, chuckling. “Both of you are.”

Maul makes a face—the one that says he is trying not to roll his eyes because he knows it will only fuel him more. It’s one of Mesh’la’s favorites. He’s taking too much time to get dressed. He’s been fumbling with his vambrace for at least half a minute. 

He takes a quick assessing glance; Maul is armored up, wearing all the parts they switched with him. And, of course, he has to wear that karking chestplate. It’s beautiful and Mesh’la both loves it and hates it. It’s a reminder that they’re far away from the Core but also that there’s little chance for them to see _vode_ from Coruscant Guard nowadays. The last time they’ve seen Thire, Ponds and Kivan were still alive. Mesh’la hasn’t seen Fox since Kamino.

He nudges a foot at his Jedi. Maul doesn’t react. He narrows his eyes at that. His _Jetii_ is stalling.

Stat’s no fool; he smoothly extracts himself from the bay without it looking like he’s scrambling out of the way. It’s subtle, in the same way he does when he stuns you or stabs a hypo in your neck—you blink once and it’s already done.

“Speak,” he commands, knowing fully well Maul could stall for hours if he doesn’t. He’s extremely good at it; he stalls but it doesn’t look like he does. Only the most experienced Maul wranglers can detect it. Stat noticed the habit before Mesh’la and the others could and, even now, Schutta and Dogma can’t tell most of the time.

“Luminara,” he begins but falls silent. He’s fiddling with his tabard. Mesh’la waits. His _Jetii_ ’s got all the patience in the galaxy for him so he makes an effort to do the same. 

There’s something about the way he says the General’s name—it’s fond, twinged with a small amount of sadness and maybe a bit of guilt. 

From what Mesh’la has gathered, Master Unduli was one of Maul’s closest siblings in the Temple—not as much as Obi-Wan but definitely a close _vod._ In the rare moments when his _Jetii_ feels enough at ease to open up about his past, he usually talks about his life at the Temple. Master Unduli has featured in several of his tales. He’s not sure they were crèche-mates but at least she was around enough to be in a lot of Maul’s most cherished childhood memories. 

From the way she looked at him when he told her Maul needed surgery, she wasn’t aware he was still alive. 

“I should—” he begins once again and stops. Mesh’la understands all of a sudden. He needs to talk to her; they can’t very well dump a guy cast in carbonite on her ship and kark off to let her deal with him without even knowing they dumped him in the first place. It’s very tempting though and he doesn’t think Maul would entirely disagree with the idea.

If they do it, 50 credits says his _Jetii_ will be drowning in guilt. He can’t let him do that.

Maul should talk to General Unduli and he’s convincing himself he can do it. He’s stalling because he doesn’t understand why he doesn’t want to. Maul has experience when it comes to the scum of the Outer Rim; he has a deep knowledge of the cultural customs and traditions of a lot of species; he’s an avid mechanic and is extremely skilled when it comes to droids. But here’s the thing—he can be entirely clueless when it comes to his own feelings. If those aren’t strong ones, he has no idea how to deal with them.

The _vode_ aren’t any better–Mesh’la isn’t any better–but at least he would know _why_ he wouldn’t want to talk to Master Unduli if he were Maul. 

His _Jetii_ , as it turns out, has no idea why. Which means he’s stalling as much as he can until he comes to his own conclusion. It will take him days. They don’t have time for that.

“Are you up to date?” he asks, choosing to go slow. Maul nods absently.

“We’re going to Eredenn Prime and you’ve asked for Echo’s squadmates. Dogma told us about them briefly since we don’t have their files.”

Mesh’la snorts. That’s probably Skywalker being a sore loser. 

“The other ARC’s been trained by 17, as well as their Captain—he’s his CT, actually. 

“Captain Rex is _the_ CT?”

“ _Elek._ He’s blond,” he comments because he’s not 17. He doesn’t miss the glaringly obvious. “I’m concerned about one of the troopers, though.”

“Tup?”

“The one with the teardrop.”

“Perhaps—I haven’t seen them,” Maul says and stops fiddling with his tabard. He puts on his tunic absentmindedly. Mesh’la tries not to smile. “He’s Dogma’s batchmate.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs, takes off his helmet and places it on his extended legs. He throws the glove at Maul, who takes it without even looking. “We should ease the meetup with Dogma. I’m not sure he’ll react well.” His _Jetii_ nods. “We should also be good neighbors and give some kind of update to the General.” Maul sighs heavily. He doesn’t relent. “I haven’t been very forthcoming,” he admits. “I think it’s time to play nice, especially since we’re going to dump Demesne on them.”

“Demesne, who is encased in carbonite. How did Master Windu react to it?”

“He didn’t.” Maul glares at him. He shrugs, unapologetically. “He didn’t ask so I thought it wasn’t really relevant. We got him and we got his intel. It’s good enough, right? That way he won’t annoy the neighbors during the journey.”

“‘Neighbours’ might not be the right metaphor considering we are stationed _inside_ their ship.”

“Eh, close enough,” he gets up and puts his helmet back on. Maul stares at him. His ‘staff is secured on his belt, the Deece on the other side and the vibroblade strapped to his thigh. Mesh’la doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s armed himself to the teeth to talk to a fellow Jedi inside a Jedi Cruiser. He takes his robe and Maul huffs but lets him help him out with it. He settles his hands on his shoulder guards and rests his helmet on the back of his _Jetii’_ s head. Maul doesn’t move. “Don’t do that again,” he mutters.

“I cannot promise you that, Commander,” he whispers back. 

“So stubborn,” he grumbles fondly. He puts space between them and sighs aggravatingly. “Can I get a refund? General Unduli seems much nicer.”

He walks around him just to see his grin. There’s something about the way Maul grins. The first time Mesh’la saw that grin, he knew he was going to follow that _di’kut._ It’s nothing like his own smile. There’s nothing behind it but joy; no hidden meaning, nothing implied—nothing but pure, unbridled joy. Of all the smiles he’s seen from people, it’s his favorite. Well. There’s Thire’s, too but he’s been smiling less and less when they call.

“I’m afraid you are saddled with me now, Commander. I would apologise but it wouldn’t be sincere,” that little poodoo says with all the arrogance he can muster. If Mesh’la wasn’t afraid he’d hurt him, he’d have punched him hard already.

“You’re a menace,” he settles on. The grin makes a blinding comeback. He offers him one of his own, even if he can’t see it. “Keep that attitude and the neighbors will throw us out, sir.”

“Luminara has heard worse from me,” he huffs and puts on his hood. He’s not tense anymore. He goes to the airlock and, when he steps out, he’s back to being the _Jetii_ Mesh’la will follow anywhere—bigger than life, powerful and imposing like the mesas of Geonosis, a force of nature who rose from the earth in a clash of strength and tectonic activity. He carries the weapon of the Jedi, wears their clothes and speaks their tongue and it scares Mesh’la how much sometimes it feels like it’s just constricting him, preventing him from reaching his full potential. Is it the way all Jedi are or is it only him?

Maul takes his first step on the ground of the _Tranquility_ and the troopers on watch all stand at attention. He bows to them respectfully. Mesh’la places himself next to him and he sees the subtle way Maul relaxes. “As you were,” he commands and, if the troopers find it weird that he’s the one to address them, they don’t show it.

“Lead the way, Commander,” his _Jetii_ says and there’s something about the way he says it; the troopers probably can’t tell but there’s humor in it, like he knows they’re playing a game of pretend for the _vode._

As they walk along the corridors, Mesh’la can’t stop himself from wondering if Maul has been pretending all this time for them, if they’ve all been lulled into thinking they could count on him to watch their backs when he could disappear from their reach in the blink of an eye. He looks invincible, bigger than life itself, and now all Mesh’la can think about is that it’s a lie—and he’s been foolish enough to believe it. These last hours have brought some kind of a revelation to him; he’s been deceived, thinking that Maul, as a Jedi, was invincible. But Maul could have been killed. Like all mortals, his _Jetii_ cannot defeat death and it’s a thought that scares him.

He walks to the command center, his Jedi besides him, and, for the first time, Mesh’la is afraid to lose him.

*

“ _Vod_!” he shouts, trying to break down that blasted door. He kicks with all his strength. “Let me out! _Vod_!” He howls in frustration.

His hands are shaking. His shoulder’s been throbbing ever since he tried to break down the door with it. “Let me out,” he howls with rage. “ _Ni copaani dayn_!”

He can’t hear anything outside. He yells and paces. There are no cameras watching him. Or at least he can’t find them. There’s nothing in the room. It’s pitch black but he’s been mapping it as best as he can. He keeps pacing. It’s a square, four by four he’d wager. It’s a bit cold; he’s wearing his blacks, not the thermals, and the greasy jumpsuit he uses when he and Maul need to work on _Scimitar._ He can’t stop walking back and forth. He feels like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. “ _Ni copaani dayn,_ ” he howls. He can’t hear anything but his own footsteps. After a while, he sits, facing the door, and tries for something else. “Mesh’la,” he calls. His _vod_ doesn’t answer. He’s getting restless. “ _Ni copaani dayn,_ ” he says. His _vod_ doesn’t answer. His voice wavers. “ _Gedet'ye, vod_.” 

He knocks his head on the wall in frustration when there’s no response. His nails dig into his palms. He tries to calm himself. He needs to breathe. He needs to focus on his breathing. It’s not working. He’s too angry. He puts his hands around his neck. He claws at his nape. It’s not working. He can’t calm down. “ _Vod,_ ” he pleads. Why can’t he calm down? “Let me out, _vod._ Please.”

There’s nothing in the room. He’s been pacing and has mapped all of it. There’s nothing. It’s pitch black and there’s a vague damp smell. There’s no white light, no surgical table and it doesn’t smell like home but it feels like it. “Let me out,” he whispers. There’s no sound except for his own breathing. “Let me out.”

When he woke up, there was something. There was something out of the corner of his eye but he couldn’t catch whatever it was. He can’t remember what it was. Every time he tries to remember, he feels anger rise within him and he can’t think. “ _Ni copaani dayn_ ,” he repeats. He puts his head between his hands. He can’t stop shaking. “ _Ni copaani dayn_.”

He wants to sleep. His body feels exhausted. He starts pulling on his blacks, gets the jumpsuit out of the way and claws at his scars. “ _Ni copaani dayn_ ,” he repeats. He wants to run. His body feels restless. His fingernails leave scratch marks on his stomach; his hand is too small compared to the crown of scars left by the monster’s horns but he noticed it always calms him fast when he scratches it. No one knows except for Stat because that sleemo _knows_ whenever his skills are needed and sometimes he scratches just a bit too much to get his head back in the game.

_Don’t tell Maul,_ he told him the first time a worried Stat cleaned his mess. _You can’t tell him._ His brother’s worry is nothing compared to their Jedi’s. 

_If Dogma was the one asking me that,_ that karking sleemo said, _how would you react?_

_It’s not the same,_ he sneered. _I’ll handle it._

_You’re obviously not—_

_I’ll karking handle it._

He does, usually. He tries the other things before he scratches. He can calm down fast with the breath thing. Most of the time. It works when he’s got a nest and a mark. He watches through the scope of his Deece and he breathes in a rhythm made to slow down his heartbeat. He’s good at that. He can go for hours without moving. But the breath thing isn’t working right now. He can’t calm down.

“ _Shu’shuk._ ”

He jumps. His head bangs on the wall. “No,” he snaps. “You’re not real.” His heartbeat accelerates. He freezes when he feels someone sighing on his neck. 

“ _Shu’shuk_ ,” the voice whispers. His hands start shaking again. He claws at the biggest scar. His fingers get wet. He scratched a bit too much. He closes his eyes. He’s not real. He’s not there. He swallows down any sound when he feels a hand over his own. He knows that hand; he knows those calluses by heart. He’s not real. He can’t be there. There are lips on his neck and he doesn’t flinch.

Schutta’s a karking idiot. He’s the biggest karking idiot in the galaxy. He tilts his head on the side and exposes his skin. “You’re not real,” he tells him and reminds himself. He shivers when he feels a kiss. “You’re not real.”

He takes the hand in his own. He lets the other one map his face. He lets him turn his chin to the side. His breath hitches when he feels lips against his own. He’s a karking idiot. He kisses back.

“ _Shu’shuk,_ ” Neyo says and Schutta pulls him roughly against him. He moans when his hands find Neyo’s hair and he pulls it. The other gasps. 

“ _Ner,_ ” he groans. Neyo stops moving. He pulls away when Schutta tries to kiss him.

“No,” he says like a statement and pushes his hands away. “I’m not.” It shouldn’t feel like a blaster shot in the chest. “Not anymore.”

“No,” he concedes. His hands clench on Neyo’s reds. He feels a drop of blood trickling down his stomach. “You’re not.” 

He feels hollow, like he can’t hear all of his feelings because they are muffled by his bucket. 

He’s used to it by now. He used to feel a lot of different things before. Since Maul found him, he doesn’t feel much. He can be angry, tired or hungry. Sometimes he thinks he’s happy or at least it feels like it. When Dogma speaks Mando’a, his chest feels warm and he wants to squeeze him. It feels like that when Maul nudges him with his horns, when Stat sleeps on his shoulder or when Mesh’la taps their foreheads together. He supposes that means he’s happy. Most of the time, he just feels nothing. It’s been like that since he left Kamino. It’s like he doesn’t have clearance to access his own feelings. They’re here but they’re not for him to know about. If he wants to feel something, he gets angry. It works well. The others never talk about it. The _vode_ are usually afraid of those like him; they don’t show it but they don’t trust them anymore. They’re not _vode_ anymore. He thinks he didn’t go fully _dar’vod_ but he’s not really a _vod_ either. _Vode_ feel more than he does.

It makes him a good sniper and a good scout. He can wait for hours on end for a target to show and he can scout ahead with no problem because he doesn’t feel fear anymore. But it doesn’t make him a good _vod._ He’s trying but sometimes he just wants to feel something so he gets angry and pulls off stupid poodoo. Maul never calls him on it. None of the others do. It infuriates him. It also helps him calm down quickly.

He never felt angry when he and Ponds painted their buckets together.

Now, he feels hollow. It hurts. Usually it doesn’t. Now it does and he doesn’t understand why.

“I could be,” Neyo tells him. Schutta laughs. There’s no humor in it. There’s not much in it, actually. He doesn’t understand why he laughs. He feels tired.

“The kark does that mean,” he says. His hands trail over Neyo’s face. He can’t see him but he knows exactly how he looks. He’s the same karking bastard who disappeared after he told him he got promoted. He’s the _shabuir_ who disappeared after he told him he would find a way to get deployed together, in the same company. He’s the one who used to look at him like he wasn’t just another defect.

He’s not the one who addressed him as _Sergeant Shooter_ when they gave Lightning a ride back to the _Endurance._ He can’t be that one because that one is real and doesn’t even know his name. He doesn’t even know he’s the one who chose it. And if he did, he wouldn’t give a kark about it.

Schutta doesn’t feel much anymore but he _can_ feel. Neyo can’t. They took that away from him. Schutta knows it. Everybody knows it. 

“You don’t even remember me,” he tells him. His body feels exhausted. “You don’t even know who I am.” Neyo kisses him and Schutta wants to stop thinking. He’d like to pretend. He can almost imagine it—to be back home, half asleep in his pod, the soothing blue light reflecting on Neyo’s arm around him, his breath tickling his nape and his warm body pressed against him. He’d turn back and Neyo would grumble, tell him to go back to sleep and Schutta would smile, wait for him to open his eyes and kiss him. _Ner shu’shuk,_ he would hear, whispered against his lips and his whole body would sing with it. “You don’t even know who you are anymore,” he huffs.

“You said something to me when you chose your name,” Neyo says. Schutta closes his eyes. He feels tired. 

“You’re not real,” he replies. He has trouble staying awake. Neyo puts his forehead on his own. Schutta almost nods off.

“You made a promise,” he whispers.

“You don’t even remember it anymore,” Schutta mumbles, tired. He can’t trust him. He’s not real. 

“Don’t you want me to be?”

“Yes,” he says, without thinking. “You know I do.”

The world goes silent.

  
  
  
  


When Schutta’s conscious again, he feels he’s being carried. He pretends not to be awake.

“This one’s lucky,” he hears someone say. They’re not a clone and they’re not Maul. “The explosion probably saved him.”

“Which one do you think it is? The medic said one of them will cause trouble,” another voice says. Unknown. He takes a quick peek. The one carrying him has a blaster holstered at his waist. Schutta can take them both out with it in the blink of an eye.

“Mine is probably more important,” the first one says. “He’s got those big shoulder pads.”

They walk in silence. They’re not outside but they don’t seem to be in the base anymore. He can hear tent flaps being pushed open. “They’re already awake,” someone says and Schutta smiles. “Stop pretending, you moof-milkers.”

He jumps away from the one carrying him and steals his blaster. He grins at Stat and puts him in a headlock to give his forehead a tap. He looks at _Eyayah_ , who rolls his eyes at the gesture but keeps the blaster he probably stole as well aimed at the other ones.

“You alright?” the ARC asks. The natborns don’t move. One is a Chagrian and the other is Near-Human. Younger than Fett when he died.

“Aye,” Stat grunts. “Give them their weapons back.” They do without fuss. There’s something about a medic’s voice that makes all _vode_ cooperate easily. Stat taps Schutta’s arm and he releases him. He makes a gesture to follow him and walks back to where he came from. They’re in some kind of fabric building, similar to a field hospital. “The others are safe,” he tells them before they ask. “We had to confine them.”

He leads them to a room where a Mirialan woman is waiting for them. White coat, obviously not combat trained, but there’s something about her posture that calls to attention, a natural aura of authority. She looks older than Fett when he died. With her, there are three civilians in the room, along with _Eyayah_ , Stat and him. The others aren’t here. He looks at the holotable and sees the recording of a huge crater. It looks like it’s on Eredenn Prime. 

“The kark happened,” he sneers. Stat scowls.

“War happened,” the Mirialan says. “We made a mistake and now we need to correct it.” Schutta narrows his eyes. “You were lucky we acted on time.”

“You’re Reeva Demesne.” She nods. “Our source’s aunt.” Stat grimaces.

“About that—” the medic starts but the Mirialan cuts him off. “I’m afraid I don’t know who your source is.”

“What?” 

“I do have a nephew named Aodh. He’s living with his mother on Coruscant but,” she shakes her head slowly. “He’s only seven years old. The man you talked to wasn’t my nephew.”

“The kark is that supposed to mean?” he scoffs. “His dossier was cleared. He’s been transferred to the Republic’s protection program. We would’ve known if he was lying.”

“And I’m telling you Aodh is still a child,” Demesne says. His aggressiveness doesn’t seem to bother her. She stares back to the hologram in thought. “Whoever he is does not change the fact that you’re here. It’s both a blessing and a curse.” The Chagrian and the Near-Human seem to drink her words like one would black ale. She’s definitely their leader. 

_Eyayah_ is the first to cut the following silence. “You expect us to take your word at face value, ma’am.” Schutta glances back at him. He’s got the same aura Demesne has. He’s an ARC, through and through, but he could also lead the troops. It’s baffling he wasn’t sent to the command track as a cadet. He must be from the younger batches. “Where are the others?”

“They’re safe,” Stat replies, scowling. “I alrea—”

“Where are they?” _Eyayah_ says, unrelenting and completing ignoring the medic. The natborns stiffen. Demesne taps on the holotable. A recording appears. It’s their _vode._ They’re all on sleepers, unconscious with breath masks on. Maul and Captain Rex are the only ones missing. _Ey’ika_ is staring at Fives. He’s good but Schutta knows the face of a _vod_ who chose to break formation for another one. He knows it all too well. The ARC looks back at Demesne with fire in his eyes. He’s not armed, contrary to the natborns, but there’s no doubt he could kill them and still stand even with those odds. “What did you do to them?”

“ _I’_ m keeping them safe,” Stat snaps, planting himself between them and Demesne. Schutta’s eyes narrow. Stat glares back at him. “I can’t let them hurt themselves any further.” He takes a step in front of them and glowers at the ARC. “I am still outranking you in this situation. You cause me trouble and I won’t hesitate to stun you.” The medic glances back at him and his glare is enough of a message. Schutta rolls his eyes and signs _Acknowledged._

“Four standard weeks ago, we started field testing the Pershing,” Demesne states, redirecting their focus to her. “You need to understand that this weapon is more than a simple prototype. It was a test to figure out if we could mix in various technologies and still create a weapon that could be mass produced.” She says with disgust in her voice. “I was in charge of the whole project but my focus was mainly on the deflector shields. Vinak was the one to decide to introduce Umbaran weaponry.” _Ey’ika_ ’s jaw clenches at that. “The tests were promising. The crater you can see here proves the Pershing’s effectiveness.” She falls silent after that, staring at the hologram. The Chagrian steps besides her and puts his hand on her shoulder. She puts her hand on top of his and sighs. “When we realised what happened, it was already too late.”

“Where’s Vinak now?” _Eyayah_ asks.

“Dead,” the Chagrian says. “Along with all of his team. They were the first ones to… come back _different._ ”

“We figured it’s because they were the closest organics to the test site. People at the base started acting erratically shortly after,” Demesne states. “Hallucinations, paranoid behaviour, distorted time perception and memory loss, mostly.”

“What are you implying,” Schutta asks. He doesn’t like where this is going. “There’s something wrong with that crater?”

“It took us a while to figure it out but it all started on that day. Little by little, people started behaving erratically. Before we could understand what was happening, the dead outnumbered the living,” she averts her gaze. “We called for help but were left to fend for ourselves. I fear they’ve abandoned the project because most of us were working for them against our will and concluded we were sabotaging it.”

She looks back at them and her eyes betray how afraid she is.

“We’re the only ones left alive.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- oya: in context, a greeting  
> \- shabuir: extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger  
> \- eyayah: echo  
> \- nayc: no  
> \- ne shab'rud'ni: don't mess with me (extremely strong warning and likely to be followed by violence)  
> \- kaysh ru’ara’novo ner skira: lit. he stood in the way of my revenge  
> \- al’verde: commander  
> \- elek: yes  
> \- ni copaani dayn: lit. i want out  
> \- gedet’ye: please  
> \- shu’shuk: disaster, big screw-up; in context, Schutta’s nickname  
> \- ner: mine  
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- sleemo: slime-ball
> 
> All Alpha wants is for his brothers to call him. Is that too much to ask?  
> Next Up: Hot Kamino Man Somewhat Disturbed by Jedi with Pretty Tattoos
> 
> Oh! I have a [tumblr](https://murkhana.tumblr.com/) now because apparently this side of the fandom is nicer than reddit’s


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized ive made feral into some kind of shadow monster constantly haunting maul and the bois and i'm @ myself because feral is nothing but a cinnamon roll… or apparently a terrifying misunderstood cinnamon roll here but you get the gist

“Captain,” he hears. Rex groans. Opening his eyes makes him retch. He closes them tightly and tries not to grimace. He’s lying down, on uneven ground. He feels a hand on his temple. Warmer than human reg temp’s. “Captain,” the voice whispers again and moving his head is so karking difficult. His body feels like he’s been stunned then dumped into icy water. “Be still.”

“Wha—” he coughs. His throat is sore. He tries again. “What happened?” He feels fingers putting pressure on his temple and groans. It feels good. It’s… soothing. The hammering inside his head subsides and is replaced by the rhythmic beating of two hearts against his ear. He freezes.

“I—“ he hits the back of his head on something when he tries to get up. An arm snakes around his waist and he can feel a slight pressure on his back—not enough to keep him down but enough to be a suggestion not to get up. He complies. He hears a restrained sigh. He can _feel_ it—the chest he’s lying on top of shaking with it. “Captain—“

Rex tenses. The voice falls silent. He can hear the heartbeats spike up. His limbs are aching and his head is a mess. The fingers settle back again on his temple. The pain subsides and goes muted, like a distant memory. The heartbeats calm down. “What do you remember?”

“We were in the cockpit,” he says slowly. He has trouble remembering. “The power went down. You said—something about our men. After that, I—” he swallows. The pressure on his back increases. Oddly, it’s the right thing to do. “I don’t remember. Where are we?”

“Below ground,” is the reply. “We are not on _Scimitar_ anymore.”

Maul’s voice has a weird quality to it. It sounds— _strained._ Rex shifts, testing. The Jedi tenses and his breath catches.

“You’re injured,” Rex says accusingly. He expects a huff, maybe a retort. He gets neither. The Jedi stays silent. “Sir, what happened? Where are we?” He blinks a bit and tries to see if his head protests. It’s pitch black. He can’t even see what’s right in front of him. He shifts his head towards the Jedi’s voice. He doesn’t see Maul’s eyes. It unnerves him more than anything else about the situation.

The Jedi stays silent. The tips of his fingers feel like a scorching brand on Rex’s temple.

“Sir?” Maul opens his eyes. In the dark, they glow eerily, calling to him like a GAR distress signal through outer space. Rex’s breath catches. “Can you see me?” 

“No,” Maul answers and Rex tries not to let his disappointment show. Even if, technically, he could. He feels guilty but it’s still a relief to be able to see his eyes in the dark. “Do you not remember what happened afterwards, Captain?”

There’s something about the way he says it. Rex frowns. Is he—is he wary? What did Rex do? “No, sir,” he says and Maul’s fingers on his temple twitch and—

He slowly pulls them away. His body does not stiffen but his heartbeats spike up, not for long, but enough for him to catch up on it. “I didn’t shoot you again, did I?” Rex lets out a nervous laugh that he tries to swallow down immediately. 

The Jedi chuckles. His chest vibrates with it and, if Rex laid his head on it again, he could feel his laugh form, bloom then end. He doesn’t. Maul’s eyes morph into arches for a brief moment. “You didn’t,” he tells him. “I’d wager you stopped considering me an enemy.” He doesn't say anything else. 

Now that he doesn’t feel like he’s been run over by a speeder anymore, Rex realizes he’s only wearing his blacks. What the kark happened to his armor? Every time he tries to remember, his head hurts. “I—” he gets brief flashes of memories that don’t make any sense—Maul talking to himself, the both of them running away from _something,_ nameless brothers screaming for help, him holding Maul’s saberstaff with one end ignited, looking at an ancient mural portraying three humanoid figures and—a quake, maybe, or at least it felt like it, and pillars collapsing on them. They should be dead, crushed by the weight. It doesn’t make any sense. Unless—

“How long have you been holding the debris up?”

“I can manage,” the Jedi replies. “I sense a way out, on your right. If you could, perhaps— _slowly,_ ” he grits and Rex hears the ground rumble above them. He stills, waiting. Maul’s breathing seems deafening. He wonders how loud his own is. “Go on, Captain.”

He doesn’t see much but the most minute movements they make reverberate around them; the echoes go further down on his right. What he wouldn’t give for night vision or even a glowrod. One thing he unfortunately got from the original is his tendency to bump his head on things, _especially_ in the dark. He slowly gets up and tries not to think about the fact that he’s been lying on the Jedi, dead to the world, for kark knows how long. The ground feels startlingly cold compared to Maul’s body. He doesn’t linger on that thought.

“Will you be able to get away before—”

“As I said,” the Jedi cuts him off. “I can manage.” He doesn’t expand on it. It should sound boisterous or even patronizing but it doesn’t. It sounds like a poorly disguised lie. Rex scowls.

There's one thing all _Jetiise_ do that he _loathes_ as much as being forced to bunk with Wolffe and his winning personality—it's their tendency to be deliberately cryptic. Commander Tano never is but he's pretty sure it's because she hasn't taken a course on the arts of being a mysterious Jedi yet. She'll become cryptic eventually—even _General Skywalker_ is sometimes. General Kenobi is cryptic most of the time but, according to Cody, he mostly does it on purpose because it amuses him to no end. Cody loves it. There's not much he doesn't like about his General, though. “Captain,” the Jedi warns and they hear a pebble drop on the ground. 

Rex crawls towards where he can feel a slight breeze leading to a hazardous tunnel. There’s a faint light on the other end. He’s a couple of meters away from Maul when he calls him. “I see the way out, sir,” he says and doesn’t care if his relief is telling. “Can you move?”

“I—yes.” He doesn’t like that answer at all.

“Sir—”

He cuts himself short when he hears the other man moving. He crawls back further down the narrow tunnel. He can hear the Jedi behind him. As soon as they’re both in the tunnel, a booming sound resonates and a gust of dust blows behind him. “Sir!” He coughs. “Sir, are you—”

“I’m alright, Captain,” is the calm reply. It reassures Rex as much as it unnerves him. “Lead the way.”

He follows the light. The Jedi behind him stays silent. Rex can feel every rock and pebble under him; he feels naked without his armor. There’s a hole giving him a good view of what is outside the debris and, thank the Force, it’s large enough for them. He tests it, mostly relies on hope but would bet it will stand and pushes himself out. His arms shake with the weight of his body and such a display of exertion worries him. It shouldn’t be this straining to lift himself with the sole strength of his core and arms. He's been trained to lift much more than that.

When he finally gets out, he sees the stars above them and the amount of debris around him. He looks back into the tunnel. “Come on, sir,” he says and puts his hands on Maul’s arms, ignoring the way it makes his heart rattle against his ribs.

The Jedi feels much lighter than he should and Rex doesn’t know if he’s using the Force or if Zabraks have a lighter bone density compared to humans. He takes a quick assessing look when he lifts him up and their eyes widen when they both realize Rex pulled him too hard. Maul falls on him ungraciously and Rex lands on his _shebs,_ a handful of flailing Jedi in his arms.

Thank the Force, Fives isn’t here. He wouldn’t hear the end of it otherwise.

The Jedi freezes, his face clearly displaying panic and Rex doesn’t know what to do. He can’t very well throw him off him. If they stay like that though he may do something that will get him a letter of reprimand. If he’s ever courtmartialed, it won’t be because he panicked and did something… _inappropriate_ to a Jedi.

Rex may be only wearing blacks but at least his are intact. Maul’s aren’t faring well. His uppers have been torn off from one shoulder to his opposite hip, leaving a gap similar to an animal scratch on his torso. The healing wound is visible and he is definitely going to need a bacta patch sooner rather than later. Apart from that, he doesn’t look injured and his horns seem intact. What happens if one of them gets chipped—or worse? Do they grow back?

Maul lets out a reluctant groan and pushes himself off him. He lands on the ground next to him like a sack of Corellian potatoes. He is shaking badly and Rex recognizes muscle exertion. “How long,” he asks, even if he’s afraid to know the answer. He gets none. “How long was I out, sir?”

The Jedi’s eyes stare straight in front of him and his face remains impassive. “It does not matter, Captain,” he replies. “We got out.”

“Out of _what,_ exactly?” Whatever was there before is now reduced to debris. It’s weird and it doesn’t make any sense; it doesn’t look like there was an explosion or, really, anything that could explain why an entire building collapsed. From what he can see, it simply looks like everything crumbled on its own at an accelerated pace.

“A temple. We’re far away from _Scimitar_ —or the Separatist base, for that matter. I don’t know how we arrived here,” he says and his mouth twists ruefully. “The Force is strong here. I have no idea why the temple collapsed on us but perhaps we’ve triggered some kind of defense mechanism.”

“Is it a Jedi temple? Like the one on Coruscant?”

“No. I don’t know which religion or deity it was erected to. You spoke of a mural with three figures and statues of humanoids but nothing that could link it to the Jedi.”

Rex frowns. Must be the temple Fives was talking about. Maul lets out a sharp scoff. Rex turns his head at that and—

The Jedi starts laughing, uncontrollably. His sharp teeth almost shine in the dark and his hands twitch on his bare stomach, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His laugh is warm and deep and he sounds like he’s not used to laughing.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Maul says between fits of laughter. His eyes are closed and his whole body shakes with mirth. The markings over his upper lips accentuate his grin. “I’ve just realised we still haven’t completed any of our mission objectives.”

It’s such a stupid thought and completely at odds with what’s happening to them that Rex starts chuckling. He puts a hand over his mouth without thinking. He _hates_ the way he laughs. It’s childish and unbecoming. They cackle together and, if they both sound a bit hysterical, they don’t say it.

“I think we’ll all deserve a break after this. I can’t even remember the last time we were on leave,” Maul says and his voice is tinged with regret.

Rex would rather not think about how unlikely it is that they will all come back, considering the situation. He sits back and the Jedi does the same. He’s afraid to admit it to himself but he’s clearly going insane. Not even mentioning the fact that he can’t even trust himself, he doesn’t even know how to deal with whatever keeps happening to them.

It’s absolutely enraging to even let the thought enter his mind but, really, Rex wasn’t trained for any of _this._ Even in all of the karkload of sims Alpha made them run, there wasn’t one to get them prepared to deal with a karked up planet kriffing with their minds _and_ a Jedi’s as well. He knows what to do in case of a trooper getting compromised but what happens when it’s all of his troopers _and_ his Jedi? How is he supposed to deal with it?

They’re more or less surrounded by debris so it takes him more time than it should to notice. A light beam passes next to them and he lies back down on the ground instantly, dragging Maul with him and putting his hand over his mouth. The Jedi stiffens but he doesn’t try to push him off him. “Floodlights,” he grunts. Higher chance they’re hostiles rather than friendlies. Rex is increasingly aware of the fact that he’s armorless with no weapon—he’s not entirely vulnerable but the odds aren’t in his favor. Apart from his torn blacks and his staff, Maul doesn’t have anything else. Their blasters and vibroblades are nowhere to be found. And the Jedi still can’t see. Rex tries not to dwell on it too much but he’s been made to assess every situation he’s in. And this one? It’s not good. Maul juts his chin softly. “I can’t see them but at least three,” he whispers, his thumb brushing the Jedi’s jaw absentmindedly. “We need to find cover. Hang on.” His eyes sweep over their surroundings. It’s mostly debris and— _there._ The lights are getting farther away. “Follow me,” he grunts, crouching and holding Maul’s arm. Slowly but surely, they take cover under a small alcove, one of the only things still standing. The lights grow distant, out of eyesight. When they sit back on the ground, something catches his eye.

It’s a comlink. He’s never seen one like it before; cylindrical, clearly military-issued but neither the GAR nor the Seppies produce comlinks like this one.

“What is it?” the Jedi asks and Rex realizes he’s still clutching his arm. He abruptly lets go and averts his gaze.

“A comlink, sir. It’s intact.”

“Perhaps we could contact _Scimitar,_ ” Maul says and Rex agrees. They could use Kesso right now. He starts fiddling with it and, when he turns it on, a hologram appears before he can do anything else.

“Hi, Rex,” the hologram says with a smile. He instantly tenses. It’s the recording of a girl; humanoid, probably in her late teens if she’s a natborn, with long, curly hair. He’s never seen her before. He hears Maul’s breath catching.

“That voice,” the Jedi whispers. “Captain, do you know her?”

Rex cuts off the hologram. He looks around them; there aren’t light beams anymore but it doesn’t mean no one heard that.

“I do not sense others.” After Rex’s silence stretches, Maul sighs. “Fair enough.” The Jedi shifts to get closer. “I need to know,” he tells him, raising his hand and wrapping it around his own, his thumb brushing the comlink. Rex is so surprised by it that he doesn’t react when the Jedi starts the hologram again.

“—never told me how you found it but… I guess it doesn’t matter,” the girl says with a chuckle that ends to leave place to a heavy silence. “I miss you, you know. Despite everything I said. But I had to know, I—I _needed_ to know. He never came back. You said he would but—” her jaw clenches and she huffs in frustration. She closes her eyes and—she’s using the same breathing technique Commander Tano does to calm herself. “I guess I’m not coming back either.” She falls silent and there’s something about the way she stares into space. It's almost like she's seeing something that isn't there.

“Do you know her?” Maul asks and Rex can hear how hopeful he sounds. His heart twists.

“I don’t, sir,” he replies. The Jedi’s face falls and he doesn’t even think when he brushes his thumb against Maul’s. “Do you?” 

The girl sighs. “I saw him, you know. He looked—” she doesn’t finish her sentence. She sighs again, heavily. “I saw Mesh’la, too; can you believe it?”

“Oh,” the Jedi says. It’s quick and gone as soon as it appears but he grins. Rex can’t stop himself from staring. “She really was talking about you _._ ”

“What?”

Maul squeezes his hand. “Is she Pantoran? No more than twenty years old.”

“Er,” he replies, full of eloquence. “I, er—yeah. Curly hair, though.” From what he remembers, Pantorans don’t have curly hair. At least not as curly as hers.

“I’m sorry,” the girl says, getting their attention once again. “I really thought I could bring him back. Now he’s here but—I can’t really show up and say ‘hi’, can I?” She closes her mouth and looks to her side. Suddenly she seems terribly young. “It’s too late now. I can’t go back.”

Rex observes the Jedi’s face. His eyes are still unmoving but there’s… _sadness_ in them.

“If you’re watching this, I’m already dead,” the girl states and her voice is void of emotion, like it’s inevitable. She looks young. A natborn this young shouldn’t be prepared to die already. “I can only hope I’ve warned him on time.” She makes a gesture; it looks like ARC hand signal but he doesn’t understand it. “Goodbye, Rex.” The hologram turns off.

Rex stares at the comlink like it has a mind of its own. “Who is she?” he asks, baffled.

“I don’t know,” Maul says and his face is pinched. “She already knew me when I met her. She told me to come here—to this planet.”

The Jedi closes his eyes. He paints a strange picture, with his uppers half torn off, his back straight and sitting cross-legged, one hand resting on his knee and the other around Rex’s. “I don’t understand,” he says and cocks his head. “You don’t know her either yet she talked like she knew us well. She told me to come here with you.”

“Me?” Rex asks, surprised. Maul smiles softly.

“She called you _Jai'galaar'la sur'haii'se_ and said you were m—a captain,” he says and _oh._ It’s probably why he kept staring at his helmet.

“Er.” He doesn’t really know what to say. “Are you sure that’s me, sir?” There are many captains in the GAR–even more in the galaxy–and he _knows_ he’s not the only clone who was awarded Jaig Eyes.

“I thought it might be Fordo but—no.” He puts hand on his neck, lets his fall back on his knee and huffs. “I know it’s you.”

“Sir?” He can’t stop himself from prompting even though it’s clear the Jedi would rather not expand on it. His heart hammers in his chest and he tells himself he has to know if they want to come back alive from this wretched planet, if they want to find their men and complete the mission. He doesn’t think too much about the fact that he wants to know how Maul can be sure it’s _him_ rather than someone else. Or that he wants to know that more than who the girl is and how she knew them. 

Rex doesn’t wear gloves and, all at once, he wishes he did. His hands are bare and Maul’s hand cover his own. If he let go of the comlink, he could turn his hand and touch his skin with the tips of his fingers again. He could feel the warmth of his body, trace the markings and feel the way his skin would react to touch. His face felt smooth under his hand, his jaw sharp but no scruff on it. His lips were chapped and warm like the rest of him and, now that he thinks about them, he swears he can still feel them against his palm. Maul didn’t protest, didn’t try to push him off or even talk; his lips stayed still against his skin. Rex’s neck feels hot and his heart pounds in his ear. _Kark._ What’s happening to him? Why is he acting like this?

The Jedi swallows down a broken laugh. All of a sudden, he looks vulnerable. The hand on his knee twitches and his thumb touches each of his fingertips in a rhythmic pattern, each connection a silent dance Rex isn’t privy to. He’s seen General Skywalker do the same only once. They were on Coruscant, waiting around the holotable to begin the first of a long series of briefings. Right after Umbara. He saw his General staring into space, entirely unmoving if not for the constant movement of his fingers. The same pattern; the tip of his thumb touching each finger one by one—second, third, fourth, fifth and again, second, third, fourth, fifth and again. The General had been angry during that time, his emotions flaring at the most random times, cutting and biting. Not with the men–never with the men–but everyone else around him, including General Kenobi, had been on the receiving end of his fits of anger and frustration. He’s usually happier when they’re on Coruscant, more relaxed. That time, after Umbara, when they joined him, he wasn't. For Rex, it always seemed like the planet was General Skywalker's home, where he wanted to go back every time they were on leave. It’s great for the men; Coruscant is a bustle of activity and its inhabitants are more than used to clones by now. Some of the civilians are still hostile toward them but it’s not very surprising; he’d wager clones will never be truly accepted within the Republic. They weren’t made to become citizens; they only know of war and Kamino. It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a home even if they are not, in any way, Kaminoans. It’s a home nonetheless even if it wasn’t supposed to be.

General Skywalker was born on Tatooine but never showed any inkling to go back there or to even consider it home. His heart is with Coruscant even if he wasn’t born there. Rex does not see Kamino like a home but he does not see Coruscant like one either. He wonders if he’ll ever consider somewhere like home or if, like many other things clones never experienced compared to natborns, it’s something he’ll never have.

He stares at Maul, sees his fingers repeat the same pattern over and over and he wonders. The Jedi does not seem angry but, then, he doesn’t know how he actually looks like when he is. Anger does not look the same on everyone. General Skywalker’s anger is explosive, destructive and, even though he would never admit it, it scares Rex more than Ventress ever did. Anger differs from one brother to another; whereas Jesse’s anger is silent and deadly, Kix’s is abrasive and chaotic. He doesn’t know what Maul looks like when he’s angry but he doesn’t think he looks like he does now.

Rex shifts. Enough for their thighs to brush. Maul reacts immediately; he lets out a shaky sigh and his head drops on his chest like someone cut the strings holding him up. With the sudden motion, his thigh brushes against Rex’s more firmly and all at once he doesn’t remember how to breathe. He stares at the crown of horns on Maul’s head, at the black marking covering the back of it, at the earring reflecting the soft light from the starry sky. Maul’s hand shakes slightly and Rex stares at it; he realizes suddenly that he never saw his hands without gloves before. The markings on them are breath-taking. Maul’s hands are a bit smaller than his own, leaner as well, but he’s not stupid enough to think they aren’t just as deadly. He’s a Jedi; his hands aren’t made for war. His body tells another story, though—one of a man who is used to fights and violence.

Rex looks at their joined hands, how he’s still gripping the comlink, how their skin tones look next to each other, how Maul’s thumb rests on top of the comlink, his sole point of contact with it. He has to close his eyes and stops any noise from getting out of his throat. He needs to let go. He can’t.

“It’s you,” Maul says, a whisper of admission, and his tone makes Rex open his eyes to stare at him. Golden eyes, unseeing, shine in the dark and seem lost. A small smile, tinged with something he doesn’t get, makes Rex’s throat constrict. “I’ve known from the moment I met you.” 

*

The walk to the command center is spent in silence. Mesh’la feels strangely distant; he’s not shutting Maul off but he’s keeping his emotions to himself. It’s not surprising; when he woke up from his first session in the tank, the first emotion he sensed from his commander was fear—which was quickly replaced by fury. 

Maul does not exactly know what happened on Nar Shaddaa. They were ambushed–that he remembers–and Sing was injured. He is certain he fought Embo afterwards. Considering he woke up still with the smell of bacta permeating the air and Mesh’la staring at him with fear in his eyes, he thinks it is safe to say he lost miserably. His commander joked, once again flirting with him, but Maul knew what was really happening. Maul scared him, more than he ever did before. It is bound to have repercussions on their relationship, he is certain of it. To what extent, however, he does not.

Every time _vode_ notice them, they stand at attention until Mesh’la acknowledges them. It unnerves him. He’s not used to it. Being on a Star Destroyer means he is easily recognised as a Jedi and years spent in the Outer Rim taught him to conceal himself. To be expected to be the opposite of what he’s been taught is unsettling. He plays his part nonetheless and bows to each _vod_ they encounter in respect. 

The _Tranquility_ is a magnificent ship—it’s no wonder it is Luminara’s flagship. It is fully efficient and, even though there is not much personality added to it, most of the _vode_ seem to be at ease. If Luminara grew up to become the woman Maul has had glimpses of during their childhood, then there is no doubt she did all she could to turn the Destroyer into a home for the _vode._

Maul senses her at the edge of his mind long before they reach the command center; she feels peaceful and does not intrude or overwhelm him. It feels, in a way, like she is trying to coax a wild animal. He can’t even muster offense or affront. It isn’t surprising; Maul never contacted her after he left Coruscant and, even though none of them confirmed it, he is almost certain his men tried to keep her away from him as much as they possibly could. They always get territorial with him when other Jedi are around. He told them their protectiveness, albeit sweet, was misplaced– _multiple times–_ but to no avail. He has resigned himself to it; it is already a difficult challenge to change Mesh’la’s mind when he is set on something and, if Schutta is involved, it is near impossible. He can usually reason with them if Stat backs him up but the only one who can truly sway them is Dogma. Unfortunately, Dogma has decided that they should be wary around other Jedi, hence Maul resigning himself to let them do whatever pleases them. 

He responds to her probing with barely concealed amusement and he can feel her surprise. There’s a gleeful flare that morphs into pleased contentment. He subtly pushes his hood further down his face. He hasn’t sensed her in his mind for decades. He’s allowed to grin like a fool. Mesh’la doesn’t say anything but Maul can easily imagine him frowning in question. He wants to tell him he’s just happy but they arrive at their destination before he can. 

None of the people on the bridge turn to them when they step into the command center. Even if all of their attention is on them. They’re all _vode_ except for Luminara and a Human who must be an Admiral, considering his attire and the way he carries himself. Maul sees some of the men’s eyes take furtive glances at him. He does not react. The people discussing around the main holotable turn to them. Luminara sets her eyes on him and he can’t stop himself from smiling a little. The _vod_ besides her stiffens when they approach.

“Officer on deck!” he barks and all the men stand at attention at once. Mesh’la makes a sweeping gesture and grunts _As you were_ with a tired sigh. Maul tilts his head at him. He knows this sigh. Mesh’la is angry. Why? Luminara walks towards them, open hands half raised in front of her. He doesn’t even think—he takes them in his own. Her eyes warm with so much fondness that he has to stop himself from fidgeting. “Hello, Maul,” she says softly and squeezes his palms. He bows respectfully.

“Master,” he replies and he doesn’t need to check to know she’s silently laughing. He still does and her eyes are still as communicative as they used to be.

“Commander.” She bows to Mesh’la, letting go of his hands, and his commander nods in acknowledgement. The _vod_ besides her stiffens even more. She leads them to the holotable. “This is Rear Admiral Nils Tenant,” she tells them. “Rear Admiral, I would like to introduce you to Commander Meisler and Jedi Knight Maul.” 

“A pleasure,” the man gruffly says. Maul bows and tries to hide his frown. Apparently, Mesh’la has not corrected any of them. Very well. He turns his eyes to the _vod_.

“Commander Gree, sir,” the _vod_ says with a nod and he subtly touches Luminara’s arm when she starts apologising. Maul smiles at the gesture but does not comment on it.

“Pleased to meet you, Commander,” he says truthfully. He looks around them, wondering, and—

“My Padawan is in the medbay,” Luminara informs him, knowing whom he is looking for. He nods in understanding. He’s already heard about her; Stat told him she was one of the two Padawans with him on Mimban. She’s not his namesake but he always speaks highly of her.

“We’ve received a transmission from High General Windu concerning your _informant_ ,” Tenant says and Maul doesn’t think he’s imagining his contempt. 

“Asset’s ready for transport, sir,” Mesh’la says. Maul tries not to react. He silently observes Tenant. He’s not an imposing man but his military lineage is evident—and his ambition even more. It shouldn’t warrant his commander to act like this, however. “We’ve secured him—”

“Secured? Is he a prisoner or an informant?” Gree asks. “We may be at war, commander, but this doesn’t mean we shou—”

Mesh’la cuts him off and says, “Aodh Demesne was Xomit Grunseit’s confidant, _commander_. This _shabuir_ is the reason why we had to land on your cruiser in the first place.” Some of the _vode_ working at the consoles near them stare at him. Luminara is still looking at her commander with poorly-concealed surprise. “We encased him in carbonite—”

“Carbonite,” Gree grunts. “Are we bounty hunters, now?” 

Mesh’la stays silent but taps on his comlink. Something shifts around them. Maul looks at his commander and waits. “If we were, I’d get paid,” he eventually says with a tired sigh. “Now, are you done with foreplay, commander?”

Tenant’s eyebrows raise. Gree’s indignation is so strong Maul has to stop himself from wincing. Clearly, Mesh’la already made an impression on him. Maul keeps his emotions to himself but acknowledges his apprehension. He’d rather not antagonise Luminara’s commander but he’ll follow Mesh’la’s lead no matter what. 

“As I said, Demesne was Grunseit’s confidant. He was the face of Black Sun when dealing with the Separatists. In other words, this man’s worth a karkload to the Republic. The information he brought to the table is highly sensitive data. As much as I don’t like him, he’s valuable.”

Tenant frowns. “Why isn’t he being interrogated as we speak? Black Sun has been using smuggler’s routes for _decades_ and most of them are in Separatist territory. We need to map them yesterday.”

“As soon as Demesne is unloaded from my ship, he’s yours. Whatever you do with him does not concern me.” Gree scoffs and Luminara looks at Maul pensively. He looks back at her but keeps his face impassive. 

He feels the panic rise within Mesh’la, even if his commander remains unmoving. Something happened. Maul looks at him sharply. The _vod_ looks back and signs _Incoming transmission, Cover this area_ then turns back and leaves the bridge without a single word. Tenant scoffs, bewildered, and looks at him with indignation. Maul lets his eyes wander around the room and realises that most of the _vode_ are openly staring at his commander’s retreating figure.

“Do you have an explanation for Commander Meisler’s _attitude_?” Tenant asks gruffly, his face going red. “I could write a letter of reprimand for such—”

Maul snorts. “Please, do try,” he says before he can think it through. 

“Excuse me?”

He stops himself from wincing. “You heard me,” he states. He’s never been good at defusing this sort of situations. Master Jon’s negotiation techniques have always been more… _aggressive_ would be the right term. Maul _could_ have learned to be more diplomatic. He chose not to. “Mesh’la is an exemplary commander and his file will tell you the same. His bedside manners leave much to be desired,” he admits, grimacing ruefully. He’s one to talk, really. “I cannot argue with that—but he is nonetheless excellent.” 

“Mesh’la?” Luminara asks, cutting Tenant off before he can speak. “I thought his name was Meisler.”

“Oh, _mesh’la_ simply means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a. It suits him,” he says with a smile. The whole bridge stills. Luminara’s eyes widen comically but his ambiguous explanation seems to have its intended effect; Tenant is rendered speechless. Despite the number of people present, the command center is completely silent. Maul acts like he doesn’t notice. “I was the one to bring in Demesne. I am certain you do not need my advice but, please, be careful. Black Sun put a high bounty on him and some of the hunters will not be easily deterred.”

“The _Tranquility_ is a Venator-class Star Destroyer, sir,” Gree says slowly. “Right now, there is no safer place for him.”

Maul hums. “I do not doubt it but people such as Asajj Ventress and Embo have proven resourceful enough in the past to warrant caution. Demesne contracted Bossk and Aurra Sing to protect him but, now that they’ve done their part, there’s no saying they won’t enter the race.”

“Asajj Ventress,” Luminara comments and there’s something about the way her eyes glaze over. Did she encounter the assassin before? “I heard she turned bounty hunter after Dooku abandoned her for a new acolyte.”

Maul tenses in spite of himself. “Feral Opress,” he acknowledges with a curt nod. Luminara’s eyes settle back on his face and he feels vulnerable at once. He stares back at her, unflinching. He thinks she’s trying to have a silent exchange with him but he feels himself close up. He stops himself from taking a quick glance at his side, knowing the space will be empty. 

Seeing Luminara again feels both like a blessing and a curse. She changed so much yet she is still the same. He wonders how she sees him—if she still sees the youngling she grew up with or a complete stranger. Moreover, he wonders if what he is clashes with what she imagined him to be; if he is a disappointment or a source of surprise. There have been many different paths in his life and each one he took led him to become the Jedi standing in front of her. Some paths he can clearly see would have led him to be a better Jedi; others perhaps a disgraced one. From time to time, he entertains the idea that perhaps he never had more room to improve—who he is now is the best version of himself, even if it is flawed and subpar compared to his most successful crèche-mates. His first year as a Knight had been a difficult time. The Jedi Order learnt three years before that the Sith had returned; he and Master Jon had been close enough to feel _him_ —Savage Opress, the Sith who killed Master Jinn. When Maul ascended knighthood, the Order was still recovering and his nomadic lifestyle led him to face a series of trials and tribulations on his own. It had been… _difficult._ He met Vianna, who made him reconsider his worth as a Jedi, then spent the following weeks drifting, wondering if he should leave the Order, if his path was not the one he should have taken. It took him landing _Scimitar_ on Jedha and spending months meditating in the Temple to reconnect with his faith. These days, he does not have the space to perform Zama-shiwo katas, which is often a source of disappointment; he’s always been better at moving meditation in periods of disarray. 

His two most difficult trials as a Jedi have been, unsurprisingly, people; he felt lost after Vianna, regained faith for a few years then proceeded to doubt again when he went to Concord Dawn. What he felt for Vianna was too confusing to be love; it was closer to yearning. He longed for her carefreeness, her audacity and her self-confidence. In Vianna he saw kinship, a mutual need for freedom and to prove they were more than what they were predestined to be. On Concord Dawn, he learned that loyalty, duty and purpose were not always what he thought they meant. His affinity for the Protectors led him to find solace in Mandalorian culture and, by extent, to grow close to them. Maul is a Jedi; he was raised to become one then chose to be one. His identity ultimately made him realise that he could never get close enough, not as much as he wanted, without betraying a part of himself. He left Concord Dawn just like he left Vianna, feeling lost and questioning everything his life stands for. He looked for Master Jon afterwards and they stuck together until his master left, as it was bound to happen.

“One of our men is analysing the data Demesne gave us,” Maul says, cutting through the heavy silence. “Most of it is related to our next assignment.”

“The one we are not privy to,” Tenant sniffs. Maul has no doubt he will become an Admiral someday. He’s ambitious enough.

“As far as you are concerned, indeed. Master Luminara is a member of the High Council. She is, in a sense, the one sending us,” he retorts, testing out. Luminara’s expression freezes for an instant. Maul stops himself from sighing. He already had an inkling that most of their assignments were only known by Masters Yoda and Windu. He more or less has confirmation now. “Should you want, master, I—”

“Perhaps later,” she says and Maul doesn’t miss the way her commander shifts closer to her. He must sense her unease. “How long do you plan on staying? Barriss told us your medic offered her help in the sick berth.”

“At least for another rotation, if possible.”

Luminara nods. “I believe we are done here, rear admiral?”

“We are,” Tenant replies tightly, his jaw clenched with poorly-hidden frustration.

“Very well,” Luminara says with finality. She steps away from the holotable and goes to the exit. “Walk with me, Maul.”

He bows to the men and follows her without arguing. Commander Gree does not come with them but he is clearly watching him with mistrust. They walk together silently and Maul besides her feels more relaxed than he expected. The _vode_ they encounter all acknowledge their General with a nod or a smile. Nothing too formal but clearly respectful nonetheless. It is far more preferable to the way they saluted him before. Luminara leads them to another part of the ship. There are less and less people as they walk. In the middle of an empty corridor, she stops. “Take off your hood so I can see you,” she tells him softly. He does, a bit taken aback. She grins.

“I am still taller than you,” she declares, proud. Maul scoffs.

“You are not.”

“I am. I stand at one point seventy-six.” He sucks his teeth and averts his gaze. It’s a habit he picked up from Schutta. It is unfortunately very telling.

“One seventy-five,” he admits, grudgingly. She beams. “No one can tell the difference. One centimeter is not important enough.”

“You’re just jealous because my headpiece makes me much taller than you are, horns included.”

He stares at her, bewildered. She stares back, smug plainly visible on her face. “You don’t pull your punches, do you,” he comments slowly. She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, please. You’re used to worse from me and you owe me for that last stunt you pulled with Quinlan. I was the one he came to afterwards. He complained about you for _days._ ”

Oh, he _didn’t._ “It was _his_ fault we ended up in the garbage chute. Had he _listened_ for once in his life, we—” he stops when he feels her hands on his cheeks. His eyes widen. She smiles.

“I have missed you, my friend,” she tells him softly. He loses his voice and averts his gaze. He doesn’t push her hands away. Guilt washes over him.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. One of her thumbs caresses his cheek before she releases him.

“Don’t. You will never have to apologise to me, Maul.” She starts walking again, hands tucked into her sleeves and he does the same without thinking. “When Quinlan told me you were… alive, I had a hard time believing it. We thought you died years ago.”

Maul stays silent for a while. He knows the Order more or less declared him dead some time after he left Concord Dawn. Apart from Master Jon, he didn’t see many Jedi except for the occasional encounter with Master Fay—and neither of them were known for keeping the Council up to date. After Concord Dawn, Maul mostly worked undercover and rarely roamed the galaxy as a Jedi. That is, until Kamino. Two years later, it still feels odd sometimes when he looks at his reflection and sees himself in Jedi’s clothes.

“I haven’t told him,” she confesses. “I don’t think Quinlan did either.” There is no need to say whom she is exactly referring to. It both stings and comforts him. “He’ll know—eventually. It is simply a matter of time, now.”

“I know,” he says. “I—” he falls silent. He doesn’t know what to say. _I am not ready_ sounds ridiculous. _I don’t want him to see me_ even more. _I don’t want him to be disappointed_ is too close to the truth. He doesn’t say any of them.

The truth is Maul stopped wearing Jedi apparel because he does not want others to see him and think that he is what a Jedi should be. Maul grew up in a Temple but, as soon as he became a Padawan, he stopped following the education all Jedi have to go through. He never had formal courses, never learnt what it is to be amongst other Padawans, what is the right etiquette or how it feels to go to Illum to find your crystal. He does not regret it; Master Jon raised him as well as was possible. Maul is certain he would have struggled to follow the right path without him. It is evident, however, that he is _not_ what an exemplary Jedi should be; he may try to act like it but he will only be a simulacrum. It does not bother him, most of the time. It does when he thinks of Obi-Wan. 

What would a Jedi like Master Obi-Wan Kenobi think about him? Obi-Wan was Padawan to Master Qui-Gon Jinn, a legend within the Order, and his own apprentice is Knight Anakin Skywalker–the Hero With No Fear, the Chosen One, the Republic’s darling. Obi-Wan sits in the High Council, his battalion is one the most feared by the Separatists and his second-in-command is none other than Marshal Commander Cody. 

What would Obi-Wan think if he saw him?

“I sense doubt in you,” Luminara says, still walking. “Emotions are clouding your judgement, my friend.”

“Perhaps,” Maul concedes. “My connection to the Force has become… elusive, since the war started.”

Luminara nods in thought. “The Force is clouded to all of us, I’m afraid. Even to Master Yoda.”

“What about Skywalker?” he ventures. 

“Ah, Anakin Skywalker,” she says with a fond expression on her face. “He is truly a beacon in the Force. Standing besides him is always an experience.” She frowns. “He is still a young Knight. He has a long path ahead of him.”

“He has a Padawan. He commands the 501st,” Maul argues. “Surely he has acquired more experience than other Knights his age.”

She chuckles. “War mustn’t be central to a Jedi’s life. Unfortunately, both of our Padawans have grown to know it intimately. Skywalker, for all he is a formidable warrior, has still a lot to learn in the ways of the Force.”

“You like him, don’t you?” he asks. Luminara has always expected more from those she cherished. She may seem cold because of it but Maul loved her for it; he honestly wouldn’t have learned the basics of mechanical engineering as a youngling if it weren’t to impress her. She doesn’t answer him. She doesn’t need to.

“I dreamt about you. You were dying, Maul.” She frowns in concentration. “There was a Mirialan–a woman–besides you but I couldn’t see the face of the one holding you. It had to be a clone; he was wearing blacks.”

Maul tilts his head. “What could you see, around us?”

“Salt. Kilometers and kilometers of salt.” She falls silent for a moment. “When I saw you, in that capsule, I imagined the worst.”

“We came from Nar Shaddaa. No salt pans, there,” he tells her. “There _are_ some on the planet we are going to, however.” He stops walking to look at her with intent. “I will be careful.”

She nods with a small smile. The corridor they are in leads them to what he guesses must be general mess; he can feel many minds and all seem more or less focused on food. He waits. Once their conversation is over, he will contact Mesh’la.

“You were speaking to the man who held you,” she says, hesitantly. “It wasn’t Basic.”

“Mando’a?” he wagers. These days he speaks it as much as Basic. She grimaced.

“Perhaps. Commander Gree does not use it to command our troops so I am still unfamiliar with it. I know my men speak it but I prefer to let them have a way to communicate… privately.”

Maul looks at her face, at the tattoos adorning her chin. They suit her very well. “Any chance you remember the word? Phonetically?”

She grimaces, unsure. “I thought it was a combination of Twi’leki and Huttese. I could guess ‘ _nerra lorda’_ but—”

“ _Ner alor’ad_?”

“Yes,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “This is it. What does it mean?” _Oh._ “Why are you smiling?”

It means they are on the right path. He feels a surge of anticipation rise within him. Ever since the girl told him about his captain, he’s been left wondering. He doesn’t know many captains and, those he knows, he wouldn’t consider them _his._ The captain he is closest to is Fordo and he _does_ have Jaig Eyes, awarded to him after his act of bravery on Hypori. Maul does not, however, consider him as _his._ They are friendly and, even if they weren’t, he would still be fond of him because he has many traits that remind him of Mesh’la. His commander loves him dearly–though he would never admit it–and it is enough for Maul to like him. They are not going to Eredenn Prime with Fordo, which means it must be someone else. Someone new yet someone who is apparently referred to as _his_ captain. 

“Maul?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “I believe I am going to meet my captain,” he tells her. He cannot wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear A,  
> Today M said something and I don’t know what it means. I think I’m catching feelings and!!! What do I do? How do I get rid of them!!! Help me, A, you’re my only hope.  
> Sincerely,  
> R
> 
> Dear Captain Rex,  
> I liked it much better when you didn’t send holocards. Please stop.  
> R/S,  
> A-17
> 
> This chapter was brought to by There Are No Mando'a/Huttese Translations in the Notes And I Feel Strangely Lost Because of That. I feel like yall know what sleemo, vod and jetii mean, yeah?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It’s been a while, yeah? Long story short—I’ve recently moved to Europe for work so it’s been difficult finding time to sit down and write. I’m all set now and updates are on the way; it’s just going to be slower than it used to be (because, well, work.) 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos; they’re everything!

“Let's start at the beginning. When was the last time you saw the Jedi?”

“Maul,” Schutta corrects in a knee jerk reaction. Doctor Demesne nods, apologetic but not enough to amends it verbally. He ignores it. He's probably more than used to natborn dismissing clones. “I was on _Scimitar._ I was checking her engines but I couldn't find what was wrong. Maul was still sleeping. That's when—” he clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath. Seeing how he’s prone to anger, it’s not a good sign. “That's when Fives asked me to help out with his hand.”

The makeshift base they’re in is larger than expected. At first, Echo thought it was a small thing, built in one day and made to be disassembled in less time than that. It definitely isn’t; it’s been made to house at least fifty scientists. Currently there’s only eleven people inside and five of them aren’t moving anytime soon. 

“Fives,” she repeats. “The one who assaulted you.”

Schutta huffs, wounded pride clearly visible on his face. “He got the jump on me and got lucky. It's hardly an assault. I'll show him what an assault is, trust me.” He clears his throat. “I cleaned his wound and that _chakaar_ knocked me out. See if I’ll help out. They can all go kiss my _shebs_ if that's the kind of thanks I get.”

Echo still has trouble wrapping his head around Fives going after the Sarge. But then, he still has trouble processing Commander Mesh’la attacking _him._

Demesne nods. She's unnerving. Schutta doesn't like her. Every time she makes a move, he stills for a split second, almost spooked.

“I woke up in a room somewhere. _Eyayah_ was next to me, still knocked out.”

“Eyayah?” Her voice lingers on the last syllable. Echo raises two gloved fingers to get her attention.

“He calls me like that,” he explains when it’s clear Schutta won’t. He thinks he’s funny; Echo is inclined to agree. The clones call themselves brothers when they refer to one another but some of the Mandalorian trainers used to call them _eyayah’ade_ —especially when they dealt with younger clones who never learned Mando’a _._ It was meant as a sneer, really. They’re echoes: pale copies of the original, twisted and distorted enough to be considered subpar, unfit to claim any Mandalorian heritage. Echo, like the majority of his brothers, did not speak Mando’a when he was still a cadet–if he’s being honest, he’s still not fluent–but he could infer enough to know it didn’t mean anything good when the trainers referred to them as such. At first, when Schutta started to call him _Eyayah,_ he scowled, thinking it was some insidious way of mocking him. 

It’s clear Schutta speaks as much Mando’a as he does Basic and Huttese; even from the beginning, Echo could tell the same was true for the rest of the team. He wasn’t entirely wrong; Mesh’la speaks Mando’a like it’s his first language, leading Echo to wonder why he chose such a controversial name. _Mesh’la;_ beautiful, pertaining to _beauty—_ something Mandalorians care little about when it comes to sentients, often used to describe objects rather than people. If his name comes from quiet disobedience or rebellion or something else, Echo doesn’t know. What he knows is that this team is used to speaking Mando’a like they do Basic; even Maul replied in fluent–albeit heavily accented–Mando’a whenever spoken to. The accent threw Echo off at first; he had never heard someone use rolled Rs and guttural Hs in Mando’a. It couldn’t be because his accent was off since the Jedi speaks Basic like a Core Worlder does. It took Echo a free evening, a holopad and some careful searches to realize Maul’s accent is part of his dialect, which is different from the clones’; it’s Concordian, spoken by Death Watch members and, allegedly, Jango Fett. Stat, on the other hand, has exactly the same accent all brothers have; something passed on by the Alpha-class, a brand of Mando’a different from the original’s, from the current Mandalorian rulers’ and rebels’, with its own vocabulary that comes from the specific characteristics of clone culture. It’s the same dialect Alpha-17 taught him, the one he refers to as _vod’joha—_ brotherspeak.

At first, when Schutta called him _Eyayah_ , Echo was pissed. With time, he came to understand what it really is—the Sarge’s own twisted way of saying that he may, hypothetically, like him. Is it surprising from someone who decided to be called _schutta_ to use slurs as friendly nicknames? Not really.

“So _Eyayah_ was still knocked out,” Schutta dismisses, stopping Demesne from questioning him furthermore on the topic. “And Fives was there, talking with—” he closes his eyes and his jaw clenches. “A _thing._ ”

“What kind of thing?” Demesne asks. Schutta huffs in annoyance. His leg starts bouncing up and down. Stat, who stayed silent since they started questioning him, visibly tenses.

“I don't—I can’t karking remember. I can’t _karking—_ ”

“ _Gev_ ,” Stat cuts him off harshly. Schutta shuts his mouth in a quick snap. Demesne observes them both silently and her eyes glance sideways at Echo. He doesn’t give her anything.

“They all acted like it was some _vod_ when it clearly wasn't,” Schutta sneers. “That _thing_ wasn't—it was wrong. There was something wrong with it and they all acted like everything was alright.”

“They?”

He throws a glance at Demesne. She's a bit relentless, Echo muses. “Fives, Dogma and Mesh’la. They kept acting like what they were doing made sense.”

“What about Jesse and Tup? Did you see them?” Stat prompts. Schutta shrugs.

“Yeah. They were knocked out.” He huffs. “I saw them when the kriffers put me in another room. Mesh’la didn’t even blink. They locked me up like a kriffing nexu and left me there to rot.” 

He falls silent.

“What happened next, sergeant?” Demesne asks. “This room—was it where we found you?”

“Yeah,” he replies. Stat’s eyes narrow. “You know what happened next.”

“Indeed,” she agrees. “You were unconscious when we found you. I wonder if it was caused by the explosion.”

  
  


“I—”

“In that room,” Stat cuts him off again. “What happened?” His eyes trail down to his stomach and Schutta scowls. Echo frowns, tries not to show his wariness much. “ _Vod,_ ” the medic says, undeterred. “What happened?” 

Schutta looks away and sucks his teeth in defiance. He crosses his arms over his chest and snorts when he sees how the other two stiffen. Echo wants to sigh. They’ll get nothing more out of him.

“Schutta,” Stat says, snapping his fingers in front of his face. He slaps them away automatically. “ _Ke gar jorhaa’i jii._ ”

“Sergeant,” Demesne calls him, trying out a different approach. “We’re trying to put together all the pieces. We cannot do that without your help.”

“What about _Eyayah_?” he asks. Demesne smiles. Echo rolls his eyes. Throw him under the speeder, will you.

“We will talk to him later. Right now, we’re talking with you.”

Schutta stands up. “Talk to him now. We’re done.” He leaves the room before they can protest. Stat follows him suit and Echo can read how furious the medic is. He signs _Halt_ to Demesne and goes after them, realizing belatedly that she probably did not understand what he said.

“No, we’re not _done,_ ” Stat snaps, placating the Sarge on the closest wall. “We’re done when _I_ say we are.”

“ _Usen'ye_!” Schutta growls, pushing him away. “I don’t have to answer to you, _Corporal._ ”

Echo stops, trying to put a careful distance between him and them. The Sarge’s infamous temper is getting out of control. 

“Oi, you think you’re clever? You think that’s going to stop me?” Stat says and Echo wants to groan. Clearly, the medic can’t read between the lines—knowing him, though, he probably just ignored them. 

“What are you going to do?” Schutta yells, uncaring when he sees Stat stiffen. “You going to shoot me?” He spits on the floor. “Go kark yourself, _sleemo. Yoka to bantha poodoo_! I don’t owe you squat so leave me the kark alone.”

Echo takes a step but freezes when Stat raises a fist, a silent order. He’s seen firsthand how fast Schutta can be when he strikes someone down. Echo doesn’t know a whole lot of Huttese but General Skywalker taught him enough for him to understand the slur and it’s not good. Coming from the Sarge, Huttese insults are a dead giveaway; like Jesse always says—you play the game right, you get out unscathed. But if you don’t… Well. Tup took a mean punch to the face.

Stat takes a careful step towards him, body stiff. “Schutta—”

“ _Cheespa bo coopa, vod…_ ” Schutta growls menacingly but the medic doesn’t back down.

“Would you calm down and stop acting like a stupid moof-milker?”

At once Echo prepares himself for an assault. Schutta’s face turns into a mask of pure anger.

“No,” the Sarge spits vehemently. He shoves the medic with all his might and shouts. “Leave me the kark alone! You know what? Get spaced! This is why you got yourself delegated to shiny work on Kaliida. No one can’t karking stand you! No wonder your precious Padawan left Mimban; _chuba na foonta tah da ankwas schutt_ —”

Stat punches him before he can finish his sentence—a single blow, straight to the nose. Echo doesn’t think; he puts himself between them and pushes the medic on the opposite wall. He wants to swear; he’s not quite sure he understands what the kark just happened. His Huttese is rudimentary at best. _Chuba_ means you, _ankwas_ means blue and _schutta_ can mean anything that can be considered as a sexual slur, really. The rest—he has no idea. 

Echo goes to immobilize Schutta, who recovers quickly. The Sarge freezes; he’s not staring back at him. He’s staring behind him—at Stat. In a heartbeat, it seems like all the fight is sucked out of him.

“Get tae,” the medic whispers behind his back and his voice is so shaky Echo turns back in surprise. “You can insult me all you want. I will never hold it against you and I will always forgive you,” he continues. He swallows then, staring at his own fist like he can’t fathom what he just did. “But you don’t get to insult her.” He promptly leaves without a second glance. He’s probably heading to the medbay. Echo doesn’t muse too much on the weird interaction; he takes a cursory glance at Schutta and sighs, slowly approaching with his hands raised.

“I just want to see if you’re alright, sir,” he tells him when Schutta stiffens, eyes on him. It’s… it’s bad. There’s no way around that one; he’s going to need bacta. At least his nose doesn’t seem broken. “We need to go to the medbay.”

“No,” the Sarge says rebelliously, his hand uselessly trying to stop the blood from dropping on the ground in copious amounts. “I’m alright.”

Echo gives him the silent look—the one that makes all of his brothers squirm in shame whenever directed at them. It effectively works on everyone but Fives. It takes an entire minute but the Sergeant eventually cooperates. He throws his arms in a gesture meant to tell Echo to lead the way in the most petulant way possible. Echo stops himself from rolling his eyes, sure it would be taken the wrong way. 

The walk to the medbay is spent in silence. They both linger in the doorway for a moment, unsure if Stat will tell them to go away. Echo shares a wary glance with Schutta then steps forward.

The medic is taking out gauzes and bacta patches from his medpack, staring at their brothers, all unconscious and lying in makeshift medpods. They’re on the other side of a transparent partition wall, which is a big farce; they have no idea what happened to them but the natborns insisted on quarantining them like they got the blue shadow virus. They’re all there—Dogma, Tup, Jesse, Mesh’la and, of course, Fives. Captain Rex is the only one missing. Echo’s eyes settle on Fives and suddenly he can’t move.

“Please don’t talk about her like that in the future,” he hears Stat murmur but he doesn’t care. He hears them moving behind him and guesses the medic is taking care of Schutta since Echo won’t be moving any time soon.

“Sorry,” the Sarge mumbles.

His heart clenches. It’s not right for Fives to look like this. He wants to shake him awake. He’s too still; when he sleeps, he’s always twitching. Echo has to block all his limbs with his own to stop him from elbowing him in the parts where his elbows have no business punching. When they can’t share bunk, he can hear him tossing and turning all night. Here, he doesn’t move. None of them does.

After a while, the sounds behind him stop. “Something happened,” Stat comments. “In that room.” Schutta lets out a sigh then winces immediately, probably mindful of his nose. “ _Shu’shuk._ ” When the Sergeant doesn’t respond, Stat sighs. “What happened? Did they come back?”

If they did, Echo has no idea. He doesn’t remember much. The Commander knocked him out—quick and efficient. He didn’t expect less from him; Alpha taught them quickly that he and his brothers were something else altogether. ARCs are the elite among the CTs, sometimes revered as much as the CCs, but the Alpha-class? They’re on another level, really. They don’t think like the CCs and CTs and brothers can’t seem to agree whether it's a good thing or not. What’s certain is that Mesh’la knocked him out good and Fives fell on the ground less than a minute after Echo woke up. He tried to understand what the kark happened, why suddenly Fives was unresponsive—to no avail. He called for help then decided to go find some after an agonizing minute of deciding whether to leave Fives on his own or not. When he stepped out of the room, he only found all of the brothers unconscious. He felt helpless and full of remorse; after that the natborns barged in and he was immediately stunned.

“No, that’s not it. You saw something,” Stat says, answering his own questions. After a beat, he adds, “You saw someone.”

“Leave me alone,” Schutta snaps at once.

“ _Tion’ad? Jorhaa’i, Shu’shuk_ ,” the medic says and Echo frowns, suddenly bringing the conversation to the foreground despite himself. “ _Shu’shuk_ ,” Stat repeats and Schutta lets out a pained, muted sound.

“Stop calling me that. Shut up,” the Sarge growls. “Just shut up.” Echo doesn’t turn back but his ears are focused on the agitated pacing. “I—” he falls silent, seeming at war with himself. “He wasn’t real.”

The heavy silence following means that Stat knows whoever _he_ is. Echo frowns. 

“How do you know?” the medic asks.

Schutta snorts then lets out a throw of expletives. “He knew me. He remembered me,” he tells him monotonously. “He felt real but—he wasn’t. He wouldn’t remember me if he was. It’s—it’s too late for that.” 

Echo’s eyes are still on Fives but he can see their reflections on the partition wall; his throat clenches when he sees Stat knocking Schutta’s temple with his own, his chin then settling on the Sarge’s shoulder, both of them staring at their unconscious brothers. He gets the horrifying sensation that he misunderstood the Sarge's reaction when he and Fives’... _entanglement_ got out; what if he wasn’t disgusted by it? What if he knew firsthand what they were risking? It’s purely hypothetical, really, and Echo isn’t going to test the theory to see whether he’s right or not. He’d rather not know.

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” Schutta replies. “To kark with my head, I guess.”

“We think Mesh’la was seeing Fordo,” the medic says, raising his voice so that Echo knows he is now officially included in the conversation. “From what we gathered, he attacked you when he realized you didn't.”

“I don’t get it,” Echo admits. He turns his head back, halfway towards them and sees Stat slapping the Sarge’s hand away when he starts scratching at his own scruff.

“Stop it,” he grumbles.

“But it _itches,_ ” Schutta complains.

“Then shave,” the medic huffs. “Otherwise, you’ll get all red and start complaining.” When Stat snakes an arm around Schutta’s waist, Echo averts his gaze, giving them as much privacy as he can without leaving the room.

“Echo,” Demesne calls from his comlink. “Could you and your… brothers join us in the control room? I think it’s time we plan our next move.”

He turns his head back towards them and sees Stat nods. “Give me a minute,” he says, still embracing Schutta, who looks stiff and awkward. Echo looks back at Fives, remembering how terrified he was when the Sergeant said _gar cyar’ika? Rayshe’ase._ Echo is not a shiny, not anymore; he rose to become an ARC and he’s a karking good one at that—but at that moment? He’d never felt more powerless in his entire life. The thought of losing him—

He can’t lose him. If he has to, Echo will break all the regs for Fives. 

He’s a stickler for the rules, everyone knows it, _he_ knows it, but he doesn’t think his brothers understand why. It’s not that he likes to read reg manuals for fun; it’s just that he finds solace in them. Without regs, without rules, there’s no GAR. As much as some of his brothers dislike the rules, they have to abide by them. Clones are made to follow orders—it’s in their DNA. Without orders, without regs, without rules, they’re nothing. His existence is determined by his capacity to follow them; if he doesn’t, his life has no guarantee. He can either lose sanity over it or find comfort in it. Echo’s life has a purpose; he wasn’t the product of luck. He was carefully crafted before he was even decanted to be what he is today. It’s both comforting and his biggest flaw; his life, if said purpose becomes obsolete, has no meaning. He becomes nothing. As long as the regs stand, as long as his purpose needs to be fulfilled, then Echo’s life has worth.

But Echo has no doubt he’ll throw it all away if it means Fives would be okay.

“You good?” the Sarge asks after a beat spent in silence.

“Aye,” the medic says and Echo doesn’t wait before opening his comlink. He takes one last look at Fives.

“On our way,” he says, prompting the other two to follow him.

The walk back to the control room is done in silence. Echo doesn’t mind. When they arrive, the three natborns are already here. Demesne stands in the middle, her hands sprawled regally on the holotable. The Chagrian observes them silently while the Near Human seems engrossed in whatever he’s reading on his datapad.

“We’ve located your ship,” Demesne says. Stat’s shoulders sag in relief. 

“What do you mean?” Echo frowns. “You _lost_ the ship?”

“Not exactly,” she says. She points to a black dot on the holomap. “You see, this is where your ship was when you landed on Eredenn Prime.” She points to another dot, three klicks South. “This is where we received a second pin from, two rotations later, and—” Another dot appears, this time fifteen klicks West. “This is where it is located now.”

“It’s on lockdown,” Stat comments. “They must be there. We need to go.”

“What?” Schutta says.

Stat looks at them both and clenches his jaw.

“When Maul, Captain Rex and I woke up, we were alone on _Scimitar_ , trapped in the bunkroom. We pulled Bodee’s feed and the medbay cam footage to understand what happened. That’s when we saw what Mesh’la, Fives and Dogma did. From what we gathered, it looked like they’d been working together from the beginning.”

“Why?” Schutta asks. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

“No,” Stat agrees. “That’s why Maul and the Captain went to retrieve Bodee. Mesh’la deactivated him after he knocked Echo out. They found him but—”

“This is when we sent the seismic charge,” Demesne says, tapping a finger on her chin. “We’ve been unable to see what’s inside the crater. Its heart remains unknown to us; the probes we sent never came back. We started to send organic teams after that.” She falls silent for a moment. “I was at the primary base when it all started. We received words from here at the beginning but, after a couple of days, they went radio silent. When we arrived, it was too late.”

“They all died either trying to escape the planet or killing each other,” the Chagrian whispers. “We only survived because we never showed any symptoms and were cowards enough to let them—” He puts a hand on his mouth and turns back. The Near-Human puts a hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort.

“The footage you saw is the closest we could get to it. All of the people we sent there came back but they were… _different,_ ” Demesne settles on. “Unfortunately, all we had were theories and doctors whose fields are not even close to medicine.”

“Doctor Beratna was the first to notice a pattern,” the Chagrian comments. “Each of our colleagues had a different story to tell when we asked them about the crater. They all seem plausible but there was always something that made it impossible.”

“They talked to dead people?” Echo wagers.

“Some did, yes. Others were talking to people who weren’t here,” Demesne says. “Friends, family members, or spouses. From what Corporal Stat told us, this was also the case with you and your squads, yes?”

“None of my squadmates agreed on where or how we landed. We all remembered different pilots. All KIA,” he admits.

“I don’t remember anything,” Schutta says. “I just woke up on the ship and we were already here.”

“Which thus contradicts any previous assumptions,” the Chagrian grumbles. “You never made contact with the crater; we would’ve known.” He looks at him and Schutta and asks, “Any hallucinations since you arrived here?”

“No,” Schutta says. Echo shakes his head.

“Then sending a charge wasn’t for nothing,” the Chagrian concludes. “It clearly affected your comrades and, from what you both told us, they were already exhibiting a more advanced stage of the virus.”

“So it’s a virus,” Echo remarks. Stat sighs.

“No. We don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t have the equipment to run the necessary tests and no access to the HoloNet. That’s not even taking into account that I’m a combat medic. I was trained to patch you up and take care of battle injuries; not to run blood work analyses. My knowledge in virology is basic at best.” He grimaces. “The charge created an EMP blast. I lost contact with Maul. I sent Kesso to retrieve them. I lost contact with him too in a matter of minutes and they never came back. I had to go; I didn’t know if they were injured or not.”

“That’s when we met him,” the Near Human says. “We went to the base because we still had access to its logs and could see there was activity down there. We thought it would be some of our colleagues. Imagine our surprise when we found you all.”

“I almost shot them when I saw they were transporting all of you somewhere. When they asked for help, I didn’t think,” Stat explains. “But when I tried to contact _Scimitar,_ I couldn’t. The probes couldn’t even find it. It wasn’t even about the cloak, it just… disappeared.”

“How’s that possible?” Schutta asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” the Chagrian replies. “Ever since we created that crater, the land… changes. We can’t say how but the base isn’t always at the same place. Sometimes it’s West of the crater, sometimes it’s North. We know we’re in the heart of a salt pan but it’s not always what we see. Some of our colleagues described different landscapes altogether, some that can’t be on Eredenn. Our probes reported sightings of abandoned villages and a temple but, so far, we’ve been unable to see them for ourselves.”

“ _As I said countless times before,_ if it were a virus then the droids wouldn’t be affected—only organics would,” the Near Human comments with frustration. “We’re dealing with something else here. Whether it’s sentient or not, nefarious or not, we’re not sure. What _is_ certain is that it cannot be a virus.”

“Any theories?” Echo asks, through gritted teeth. He can already feel a headache coming.

“An advanced weapon sys—”

“Utter nonsense!” the Chagrian scoffs. “There is no discernible pattern and, even then, it would be far from being effective.”

“Oh? What do you suggest then? Magic? The _Force_ perhaps?”

“Gentlemen,” Demesne pacifies with the tone of someone who is tired of hearing the same arguments over and over. She looks at the clones apologetically. “As you can see, we’ve yet to reach a consensus.”

“I am a mechanical engineer,” the Near Human grumbles. “Latinn’s and Reeva’s works are in energy research. We have to admit we are out of our depth here. I still stand on my theory; it is, so far, the only respectable—”

“We can keep discussing this or we can act,” Stat sighs; he turns away from the holotable and heads for the exit. “I’m not waiting any longer,” he informs them, leaving no room for debates. Schutta follows him and doesn’t bother to acknowledge the others.

Echo goes after them without even thinking.

After another heated argument, this time with the clones, they decide to let Demesne come with them. They’re not particularly happy about it but they can’t really stop her without jeopardizing their fragile alliance. They didn’t come here for a rescue mission and all parties are well aware of that. She is, unsurprisingly, the only one who actively seeks them out; the two other natborns only address them whenever necessary. 

Echo hates the fact that, right now, these two are the only ones protecting his brothers. But since he and Stat are the only ones shelled up and Schutta refused to stay put, the four of them are currently approaching _Scimitar_ , each on a speeder _._

“One klick West,” the medic intones, leading their party of four, Echo covering the back. The Sergeant looks weird in his strange mix of blacks and civvies, even considering Demesne besides him. 

Oddly, a looming shape can be seen from afar. Echo frowns. “Is that _Scimitar_?”

“Aye,” the medic says cautiously. “It’s uncloaked.” Schutta swears freely.

“I take it this isn’t good?” Demesne asks.

“I guess we’ll see,” Schutta grunts. 

When they’re close enough without triggering the perimeter alarms, they get off their speeders. Schutta takes a closer look and swears. 

“Full lockdown. Fierfek, I’m not sure I won’t have to open her the hard way.”

Stat sighs heavily. “As long as she won’t need any repairs before takeoff—do your thing.”

“Alright,” he agrees easily and, after a long assessing glance, says, “good news is, perimeter alarms are deactivated, from what I can see.” He grimaces. “Bad news is we’re gonna have to do this the hard way. I’m pretty sure Kesso set her on full admin lockdown. She’s impenetrable for the moment.”

“Impenetrable.” The Sergeant nods. “You mean we can’t open her by force?”

“Eh, we really shouldn’t. You don’t know what could happen.” The medic scoffs, takes off his helmet and stares at him like he can’t believe what the Sarge just said.

“ _Schutta._ ”

“What,” he mutters, eyes looking everywhere but at Stat.

“I thought we all agreed _not_ to add a self-destruct sequencing.”

“I won’t let some idiot take her just because you _chakaare_ won’t do what’s necessary.”

“Necessary? It’s _overboard_. And now, thanks to your paranoid _shebs,_ we’re locked out.”

Schutta sucks his teeth. “Not _fully_ locked out,” he mumbles. “I can probably open her smoothly.”

“Probably?” Echo repeats dryly. “What happens if you fail?”

Schutta stays silent for a beat. “Boom, I guess.”

Echo doesn’t need to glance at Stat to know he’s fuming. 

“I know, I know,” Schutta grumbles then goes under the belly of _Scimitar._ Echo doesn’t know much about mechanics; unlike Fives, he never took an interest in it so he doesn’t really know what the Sarge will do. 

It’s weird because Echo can’t hear the ship’s online until Schutta shuts it down. The engines are cut off and suddenly the silence is even more present. “We’ll have to open the ramp manually,” the Sergeant informs them. Echo has no idea how they’re going to do that but he still _yessirs_ at the same time Stat does. When they arrive in front of _Scimitar,_ Schutta jumps high, the height much more significant since he doesn’t wear his gear, and grasps at some hidden handle, feet dangling. He pulls on something, or maybe pushes; there’s a hiss followed by a gust of wind. The Sergeants puts both his feet flat on the ship and starts pulling. _Scimitar_ grates and creaks, showing her displeasure, but lets herself be opened by the sheer power of Schutta’s thighs. “Little help would be nice,” the Sarge grunts and Stat reacts immediately; he jumps and his arms grip Schutta’s waist, letting his boots hover over the ground.

“Echo, pull my hips,” the medic says and the image is so ridiculous he can’t stop the laugh from coming out. The two clones start insulting him with all their might so he puts his arms around Stat’s hips and starts pulling without alerting them.

“Oh for kriff’s sake, _Eyayah_!” Schutta growls. “Take your head out of your _shebs_ and karking _pull_!”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to use force,” he says through clenched teeth. He locks his knees and lets his weight pull them.

“I got it! I got it!” There’s a resounding click and _Scimitar_ shudders. Another hiss and this time the doors open horizontally, just enough to pass an arm through. The Sergeant whoops. “Down, down,” he says then proceeds to let himself fall. Stat yelps when he realizes they’re airborne and suddenly Echo has two brothers tumbling down his own stomach.

If he wasn’t already used to Fives and Jesse’s stunts, he would have punched them—superior officers or not.

Schutta starts cackling and Stat has to throw him off him. When he can finally breathe again, Echo stays for a couple of seconds on the ground, wondering what he did to suffer through all the shit clones constantly pull. The stars, unhelpful, do not offer him any kind of answer—rather, they look like they’re laughing at his fate.

They force the doors open and _Scimitar_ cringes, prompting Schutta to wince. “I know, baby,” he says and Echo thinks he can hear Commander Mesh’la in his words. “I’ll take care of you as soon as we get off this rock.”

“I forget how weird you are,” Stat mutters. Demesne is the first one to go inside and Echo grits his teeth at that. She doesn’t even check if, say, someone is waiting for them or even if it’s safe to enter. No one shoots at her so the Sergeant glances at him, shrugs then jumps inside. 

They can’t see much once they’re in of course. “Give me a minute,” the Sergeant says then walks with assurance out of the ready room. They hear him open a hatch and climb down a ladder. Stat goes straight to the medbay, leaving him with Demesne. _Scimitar_ shudders and at once the lights are on. The ship makes a jarring sound, as if disgruntled.

“The kark happened here?” Stat snaps and Echo goes to him without thinking. He looks around the medbay and blinks. There’s nothing out of place. “Take off your helmet.”

He does and he grimaces. It smells like cleaning products and dried blood.

“I don’t think there’s anyone here,” Demesne says, still from the ready room. “Where’s the cockpit?”

“Upper deck,” Schutta shouts from the engineering access chamber. “Don’t go alone. _Eyayah—_ ”

“Yes, sir,” he cuts him off because Demesne already called the elevator. He takes the small discarded mirror on the hologame table then pushes himself between her and the door. She simply raises an eyebrow. He scowls and says, “Don’t stand in front of the doors.”

“Why?”

“Because you got no cover if someone’s inside.” She stares at him, a bit abashed, and Echo feels the need to smile to soften his harsh tone. _Effective civ-mil communication shouldn’t be blunt_ , El-Les used to tell them. _Be aware and tone it down; they’re not your brothers._ “We don’t know what we’re up against,” he tells her gently, “and we don’t know if the ship is secure. Stay behind me just in case.” 

She nods, again, this time with more assurance. When the doors open, they’re flat against the wall, out of sight. A quick check with the mirror tells him there’s no one inside. “Clear,” he tells her. She looks at him with a wry smile and steps in. Echo puts on his helmet and says nothing. He presses the button, takes his Deece in hand and puts himself in front of her, crouched. “Get down, please.”

The doors open and, for an instant, they’re simply met with silence. He moves, testing, and nothing happens. Demesne decides at that moment that she can stand up. Echo barely has time to pull her back down before a blaster shot grazes her.

“Don’t shoot!” he shouts and he hears Demesne pant, probably scared out of her mind. That’s not good. They’re completely exposed out here. He grits his teeth. Nothing happens. “Rex? Is that you?” 

“Echo?” is the disgruntled response. He can’t see him; he thinks he’s probably behind the holopod. “Who’s with you?”

“Doctor Reeva Demesne,” he says. “Sergeant Schutta and Corporal Stat are on the lower deck.” He takes a step forward, shows his own Deece, slowly puts it on the ground and, in an act of good faith, slides it in the middle of the room. Worst case scenario, he still has a vibroblade and a couple of poppers. “I’m coming in; don’t shoot.” He takes another step, switches his scope on and, sure enough, he can see the two heat signatures, one definitely too white to be a Human. With any luck, it’s Maul. “It’s good to see you, sir,” he tells him, letting all of his relief show. 

“How do I know you’re you?” Rex asks, still ready to blast him. Well. That’s a good question. Echo can’t think of a single thing to say to prove he’s himself. 

“You can’t,” he admits after an uncomfortable moment. He sighs. It’s a low blow and he’s not very proud of it but he knows exactly what to say to have Rex stand down. He takes off his helmet and stares at the ground. “I karked up, sir,” he mumbles, with a single tremor at the honorific. “I don’t know why but Commander Mesh’la knocked me out. When I woke up I was at the Seppie base and Fives—” he doesn’t try to cover up his anxiety, stays silent for a beat. “Fives wasn’t—”

Echo cradles his helmet against his chest, inhales, slowly, then exhales. He repeats the motion, inhale, exhale, just like Rex taught him. In and out. _In and out. Breathe, vod. In and out._ “I don’t understand what’s going on, sir.”

And at this, Rex rises. He walks to him, strong and assertive, puts his Deeces in their holsters without flourish, and Echo knows everything’s going to be alright. The Captain extends a hand to him, palm up, and he takes it immediately. They’re the same height but Echo always feels smaller when they’re together. It’s stupid but when Rex pulls him up suddenly he’s back on Rishi, completely out of his depth and fully certain he can feel the handprint made of eel blood the Captain left on his chestplate. Echo’s an ARC, now, he’s part of the elite—but he’s no Captain Rex. On the field, Echo follows General Skywalker and Commander Tano and doesn’t question them, never doubts them but it’s Rex that he’ll follow till the end. Rex takes care of Torrent; they’re his men and he’s their captain. And Echo will always be Torrent, just like he’ll always be Domino.

“Where is he now?” the Captain asks. Echo looks at Demesne, gestures at her that it’s alright. She looks at Rex gingerly but stands up.

“You must be Captain Rex,” she says, without a trace of fear and Echo is surprised. She has nerves of steel for a civilian. “I am—”

“Doctor Demesne,” Maul says, standing next to the pilot seat. “Your nephew sent us.”

The Jedi walks towards them and Echo frowns. He doesn’t look good. At all. He’s not limping or anything but he stands rigid, a stark contrast to the usual fluidity of movement all Jedi share. Echo has a nagging sense that he’s the reason why the medbay smells of blood. His outfit is… odd. He’s wearing clone blacks–Echo tries not to think too much about that–with a utility belt and that’s it. If they were in any other circumstances he’d laugh because he looks almost naked without showing a sliver of skin. The grip he has on his lightsaber is steady. He doesn’t look like it but Echo is certain that, if he feels they’re a threat, he won’t hesitate to use it. He doesn’t know what he and Rex experienced but it can’t have been good.

“Jedi Master,” Demesne says with a respectful nod, which the Jedi returns with a polite bow. He’s definitely stiffer than he should be; it’s subtle but Echo’s used to Jedi trying to hide their injuries. He knows their tells. There’s something else wrong with him, other than the stiffness, but Echo can’t find what. He glances at Rex, who’s openly staring at the Jedi, his body angled halfway between him and Echo. Maul takes a couple of steps towards them and faces Demesne. His body is positioned between her and them, his back closer to Rex. Clearly, he doesn’t trust her.

“Your presence here is surprising,” he comments. Demesne’s eyebrows raise. She raises one of her hands, then slowly wiggles her fingers in front of her mouth. Echo stares at her, confused, until he sees Rex stiffen. He looks at him sharply then follows his line of sight. 

Maul doesn’t react. His eyes keep staring at her neck.

“We met Corporal Stat after you lost contact with him,” she explains. “It is a rather long story and I’m sure it would be best if he and Sergeant Schutta came here as well.”

“We?” the Captain frowns. 

“Should I comm them, sir?” Echo asks. Rex glances at Maul, who tilts his head then nods silently. 

“Go on,” the Captain says and Echo doesn’t comment on that strange interaction. He comms the Sergeant.

“They’re here, sir.”

“They alright?”

“We are,” Maul replies. There’s silence at the other end for a couple of seconds.

“ _Copaani mirshmure'cye, alor_?”

“ _Dopa na rocka rocka_?” the Jedi answers. The Sergeant laughs loudly.

“It’s good to hear you, sir. I think I found what’s wrong with _Scimitar._ I’ll show everyone on the holopod.” The lift is called on the lower deck. Echo secures his helmet on his belt then glances at Rex who looks at him with a frown. _Sitrep?_ He signs. 

_Enemy base cleared,_ Echo signs back. He clenches his jaw. _Squad down, Five injured._

_Safe?_

_Safe,_ he confirms. Rex doesn’t truly react but he can feel the tension seeping out from him. The lift opens. The Sergeant is the only one coming out. Echo frowns. 

He sees from his peripheral vision Maul stepping forward. Schutta goes straight to him and pulls him in a sudden embrace; the Jedi returns it, unfazed. That’s when Echo realizes the Sergeant’s holding a Deece in his hand.

Before he can comprehend what’s happening, Schutta shoots Rex; the Captain falls. Echo doesn’t blink; he quickly takes Rex in his arms before he touches the ground and when he looks back Maul is already unconscious in Schutta’s arms. Echo takes out his own Deece and they find themselves aiming at each other. His whole body is vibrating; he doesn’t understand what’s happening, doesn’t know what to do. His mind is reeling. He’s aiming his blaster at a _superior officer_ who shot down his captain and a _Jedi._ Schutta’s pistol is set on stun; they’re only unconscious but still. What just happened?

“S—sir?” he says through clenched teeth, seeing Demesne trembling on the side, feeling the arm supporting his captain tensing because of the adrenaline pervading his senses.

“I’m sorry,” the Sergeant says, staring at Maul. “I can’t lose him. Not again. I can’t lose him.”

A chill runs up Echo’s back. The Sergeant has the same faraway stare Fives had when he woke up. “Sir,” he says slowly, trying not to spook him. “Why did you stun them? Maul wasn’t—”

“You don’t understand,” Schutta mutters, cutting him off. “You can’t. The Jedi—they’re more amenable but it wasn’t—on Kamino, we couldn’t—” he keeps looking at Maul, frustration and panic clearly written on his face, but the Deece is steady in his hand and Echo knows he doesn’t need to watch him to shoot. And he won’t miss. A chill runs through his back.

“Are you two—” shock has him reeling. He’s never heard of… a _clone_ and a Jedi? Echo doesn’t even dare say it out loud. It doesn’t even make sense. How could they have been together on _Kamino_? No; there’s something he doesn’t understand here. “Who are you talking about, sir? Who’s _we_?”

“Stand down, ARC trooper,” he says and Echo does, automatically, but his body tenses anyway. “I’m doing this for all of us. Not just me—but _you and Fives_ too,” he snaps. He points angrily at Demesne with his blaster. “You started this. We’ll finish it.”

“Sergeant,” she says, her voice as strong as beskar even though her body betrays how afraid she truly is, “whatever you think you’re seeing, it isn’t real. Do not believe—”

“I’ll make it real,” he snaps. “That’s why you don’t get it. They’re not hallucinations.”

“Then what are they?”

He stuns her instead of answering. “Stand down, Echo. That’s an order.”

_No,_ he wants to say but every cell in his body screams at him to obey. He holsters back his blaster, jaw clenched.

“We need to get back to the base. It’s going to be karking difficult with the speeders,” the Sergeant says, entirely ignoring the tension. He hoists Maul on his shoulder then goes to the lift. He puts Maul down then goes for Demesne.

“Can’t we just fly _Scimitar_ there?” Echo asks. The Sergeant raises an annoyed brow.

“You a pilot, _Eyayah_? Because I’m not and we don’t have an astromech.”

Echo’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t say anything. He said _I_ not _we._ Chances are he already stunned Stat. He glances at Rex. Of course he’s the one holding the brother in armor with a kama to add just a bit more weight. At least the Captain’s only wearing the lower parts. Echo takes a quick glance around and—sure enough, his chestplate lays pristine next to cleaning gear. They probably cut off _Scimitar_ ’s power when he was cleaning his gear. They all fit in the lift and when the doors close Echo feels himself tensing. Neither of them says anything. 

Schutta goes straight for one of the bunkrooms, Maul on his shoulder. “Take Rex,” he says but since Echo is, well, still carrying Rex, he just follows him. They put them on one of the bunks. He lets the Sergeant exit first. As soon as he steps into the ready room, Stat stabs him with a hypo. Echo softens his fall. 

“I have to admit,” the medic says wryly, “I always get a smidge of satisfaction whenever I do that. It’s cathartic.” He then points his blaster at Echo. “Do I need to put you down too?” He looks at him like he’s assessing how much of a threat he can be. 

“I thought he stunned you too,” Echo replies. Stat smirks.

“Oh, he did. He just didn’t take Deebee into account. He stimmed me up as soon as that _koochoo_ took the lift.” An MD droid steps out of the medbay, placing itself behind the medic. Probably Deebee. “Care to tell me what the kark happened?”

“He stunned Rex and Maul as soon as he entered the cockpit. When Demesne tried to reason with him, he stunned her too.” He grits his teeth. “He told me to stand down and I wasn’t sure—” He falls silent. The medic observes him for a long minute. Echo doesn’t know what he sees but, after some very obvious deliberation, he puts his blaster back in his holster.

“He’s still a superior officer,” Stat says with a nod. “I take it he started hallucinating again.”

“Probably. He kept saying he couldn’t lose someone. I’m not sure who.”

“Aye, that’s… I suspected.”

Echo observes him, sees the tension in his shoulders, the pain written on his face, the way he stares at Schutta. He seems helpless; it’s not a good look on a medic. Stat’s eyes turn to him and there’s something in them he doesn’t quite understand.

“It’s a brother,” he blurts out without thinking. Stat stiffens. “The one he sees; it’s a brother, right?” The following silence is all the more telling. Something sits heavy on his stomach. “And he’s not dead, is he.” Stat’s jaw clenches.

“No.” His fingers move, quick signs. _Empty shell,_ he says in the language their generation invented to talk to each other without the instructors understanding. Echo and Fives still speak it from time to time, mostly to rile Jesse. He’s surprised Stat uses it; Bravo Squad didn’t interact much with the other squads. Cutup really was the only one talking with them, and he talked only with Stat because they were batchmates. The others had been decommissioned before they even started live-fire; they should have been sent to the same squad but Stat was promising—Cutup less so. Stat was sent to Bravo, the finest squad of the generation, while Cutup was sent to Domino, the squad in which none of its members were true batchers. After the whole kissing fiasco between the two, though, Bravo closed ranks. They mingled even less with the others, never signed back when a brother would try to talk. And since they were the best, brothers started to resent them, ostracizing them even more. 

_Empty shell_ , Stat signs and Echo feels like there are firebeetles crawling under his skin. Stat doesn’t say it out loud and they both know why. It’s horror stories, at first, traded by small cadets before curfew. If you break formation, the long necks take you away but they don’t decommission you. You come back but you’re not you anymore. No one really believes the stories until they hit the worst growth cycle. Live-fire exercises begin and, with them, a new kind of awareness; you live, you’re alive, and that means you can die, too. Death is a certainty that every brother knows intimately—but to feel _alive_ , that’s different. It’s a giddy sensation. Live-fire does that to a brother; you hate everything about your limbs and the fact that they don’t do what you want them to do but, suddenly, with the adrenaline live-fire gives, you don’t care about them anymore because they’re _nothing_ compared to your brothers’. It doesn’t happen to everyone; Echo didn’t get why out of nowhere some of the brothers got interested in each other. It was counterproductive at best; all that time, chasing one another, _wasted._ And then the talks start; some of the instructors aren’t males, they’re not like brothers, and apparently it’s appealing. Echo didn’t get that either. Mostly, he spent his cadet years in blissful ignorance; the worst he experienced was lying through his teeth to help out Cutup in the medbay after the idiot broke formation with Stat. Echo never got interest in someone else, not like that, because he was too busy existing besides Fives. 

Oh, he sees the irony now but he didn’t on Kamino. He didn’t on Rishi either. It took Jesse softly recollecting what happened with his previous squad for Echo to understand. Why risk so much? What’s so interesting about being with someone else? Why risk being erased forever, becoming nothing more than an organic clanker? It doesn’t make any sense. Then Fives had to say something; Echo doesn’t remember what it was, only that it got his attention. And all at once Echo looked at him and he understood.

“I wonder who the others were hallucinating,” Stat says low. He gestures at Schutta and the droid lifts him up then carries him to the medbay. Echo shifts. 

“He said they’re not hallucinations,” he says awkwardly. “It’s probably not—”

“You know what I’m really starting to like the magic theory,” the medic muses, crossing his arms over his chest. “When I was stationed on Mimban, one of the Jedi commanders told us stories about Jedi temples in the Outer Rim. I wasn’t terribly surprised when she said they were dangerous because they were nearly sentient; and that if a non-Force sensitive happened to find one, it could lead to disaster.”

Echo frowns. Fives _did_ talk about a temple and, apparently, the Seppie probes catalogued one, even though no one could see it. “The Jedi Order would know about it. It would’ve been in the brief.”

“Unless it’s one of the lost ones,” Stat says, snapping his fingers. Echo stares at them; he doesn’t understand that hand signal. “Maul once told us that some of the temples in the Outer Rim are even older than the Republic. What if the Seps found one of those?” 

“That’s…” he’s trying not to show his skepticism but it’s not an easy feat. The medic doesn’t seem to care, though. 

“I need to ask Maul,” he says then proceeds to walk past him inside the bunkroom. “Echo.” 

He tenses at the tone. “Sir?” The medic doesn’t scoff. Echo frowns. He always does when he uses the honorific. He looks back over his shoulder and—

What the kark?

“Where are they?” Stat asks, his eyes looking everywhere in the bunkroom. “Where’s Maul?”

“They were right here,” he replies, pointing at one of the bottom bunks. That’s not possible. He and Stat were right there. There’s no other exit. They couldn’t have gone past them without them noticing. What the kark? They hear a groan coming from the ready room. Echo leaves Stat there, who’s still looking at the bunk dumbstruck, and sees that Demesne is waking up. He winces. He left her in the lift. Handling civilians real well, here.

The woman blinks, clutching at her head. “Echo?” she asks in a raspy voice. She tries to get up but he pushes her back down.

“Easy, easy,” he chastises. “You got stunned, doctor. Take your time.”

She slowly nods, then observes him silently. “Where is Sergeant Schutta?”

“Medbay. Stat sedated him.” He shrugs. “He’s… probably compromised now.”

“Indeed,” she sighs. “Help me up, please.”

He does. She wobbles, so he puts his arm around her waist like he would for a brother instead of a civilian. She doesn’t comment on it so he guesses she didn’t regard it as a breach of etiquette. He lets her go smoothly and she straightens the sleeves of her jacket, like Admiral Yularen does when he’s upset with General Skywalker. Echo shifts. He’s not sure what that means. Fierfek, he really doesn’t like handling civilians.

When he sees she can easily stand on her own, he goes back to the bunkroom. Despite his silent prayers, Stat is still the only one there. “Tell me there’s a hidden exit somewhere, sir,” he says. “They can’t have just—”

“Deebee!” the medic calls. “Schutta’s with you, aye?”

“He is,” the droid replies. “Still stabilized.” Stat puts a hand on his mouth and frowns. Demesne knocks on the wall, gaining their attention, standing at the doorway.

“Have you tried contacting Latinn and Ulam?” she asks, showing them her commlink. “I’m trying but I have no response.”

Echo hasn’t. The Sarge was the one in charge of checking up with the base. He frowns; he should’ve made contact with them as soon as they incapacitated Schutta. He glances at Stat who shakes his head.

“Something happened,” he tells her. “Maul and the Captain were put here before I took Schutta out. Echo and I were standing by the door.” He points to the bunk. On top of it, there’s only a blanket, a pillow and, as odd as it seems, Rex’s lower armor parts. “They were here. They aren’t anymore. It’s not possible.”

Demesne grimaces. Echo’s eyes narrow. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What? What do you mean?” the medic growls. “You’re telling me people _disappeared_ and you didn’t tell us?”

She winces. “None of us saw it ourselves. There’s one instance when someone was supposed to be at the base and they were found near the test site even though people said they’d been with them, at the base, a minute before.” She crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “But since most of the people questioned already showed symptoms, we didn’t think it was true.”

Stat swears under his breath. Echo feels the beginning of a headache coming. 

They hear a loud, booming sound from outside. He tenses at once, hand automatically settling on his Deece. Stat’s eyes narrow.

“That’s no seismic charge.” He juts his chin at him. “You recognised that?”

Echo shakes his head. Demesne looks at them with fear in her eyes.

“It was close.”

“Aye. I’d rather not open the airlock; let’s check out from the cockpit,” the medic says, stepping out the bunkroom. “Deebee, engage ‘get tae’, full lockdown.”

“Very well, sir,” the droid replies. The medbay door shuts down and locks itself when Echo steps into the ready room. The door panel flashes red. He looks at Stat quizzically. 

“Won’t open to anyone but me,” he explains. “He’s got rations, water and Deebee. He’ll be fine.” He goes to the lift then makes a hurried gesture at them to follow him. They do without a second thought.

When they look through the viewport, they stay silent for a while. Echo feels dread growing in his stomach; his fingers shake, even if he clenches his hand into fists. Demesne sits on the pilot chair without fanfare, like she can’t stand anymore. Stat doesn’t react.

In front of them lay the ruins of a village and, at its heart, an immense temple, halfway destroyed.

“I guess we found the village,” he states monotonously, not expecting anyone to reply. No one does.

Demesne’s comm decides it is the right time to come to life. There’s a screeching sound; she jumps, startled, and the motion makes him go tense, hand settling on his Deece. He glances at Stat, who’s in a similar posture.

“Reeva? Reeva, can you hear me?” It’s the Near Human. He sounds panicked. “Reeva, please respond.”

She takes the commlink between her shaking fingers, pressed the button to open her end. “I’m here,” she whispers, eyes still on the village in front of them.

“Dear Gods, it is good to finally hear you,” the voice at the other end gasps, full of relief. “We lost your trace for hours! We thought you wouldn’t leave the ship without telling us!”

Echo checks at his chrono. They left the base two standard hours ago. “How long has it been?” he asks gruffly.

“Ten hours,” the Chagrian replies and suddenly Echo’s ears ring.

“That’s not possible. We left two hours ago,” he argues. “We’re still on _Scimitar_.”

“You are? Why fly in the middle of nowhere, then? Why not come back?”

“We didn’t move. No one knows how to fly.”

There’s a long silence at the other end.

“Where are you right now?” the Near Human asks, voice guarded.

“On _Scimitar_ , at the same coordinates,” he says and Stat lets out a shrill laugh. They haven’t moved, which means that, technically, a karking village appeared out of nowhere. _Did you see the village?_ Fives asked him before Echo joined the Commander. _There was a temple; did you see it?_

_No,_ he replied. Fives had made a face and, when he tried to ask what was wrong, he only kissed him. _Go,_ he whispered on his lips. _Commander’s waiting._

Echo didn’t really think about that too much but, now that he sees what has to be _the_ village—

“You’re thirty-five kilometers West of your last recorded location. You’re smacked down in the middle of nowhere.”

Demesne lets out a tired sigh, makes a gesture with her hand that Echo doesn’t understand. She repeats it several times. Then it hits him; Mirialans are very religious, he’d read. She must be praying.

“Ulam,” she says with resignation, “I think we found the village the probes were talking about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it is right in front of us right now. I think we should check it out,” she states with finality. She looks at them with a raised brow. “Perhaps the Jedi is here.”

“Ah, what the heck. Alright. I feel we’re walking right into a trap but,” he looks at them then just shrugs. Echo stares at him in shock.

“You think it’s the temple,” he tells him, slowly comprehending. Stat nods reluctantly. He looks at them both. They keep staring at him. He waits for one of them to say something but when they don’t… “Oh,” he says intelligently. 

“So what do you say?” Stat asks with a smirk. “Fancy a tour in the nearby village, _vod_? Maybe meet some of the locals?”

Echo is so far out of his depth that it doesn’t even surprise him when he just replies “Yeah, okay,” and they all go to the lift, getting ready to visit a village that doesn’t technically exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- gev: stop  
> \- ke gar jorhaa’i jii: talk now, imperative  
> \- usen'ye: go away (very rude - from same root as osik)  
> \- tion’ad: who  
> \- copaani mirshmure'cye, alor: are you looking for a smack in the face, sir
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- sleemo: slime-ball  
> \- yoka to bantha poodoo: you’re bantha shit/fodder  
> \- cheespa bo coopa…: better watch it…  
> \- chuba na foonta tah da ankwas schutta: you couldn’t satisfy that blue bitch  
> \- dopa na rocka rocka: does it cause brain damage


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time i update i feel like i’m inviting y’all to the circus so you can see me dancing in my crack square like welcome, welcome, please enjoy my clown stuff 🤡

“Your Captain? I must confess I do not understand how you fit in the GAR.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Maul says. Luminara raises a quizzical brow. He grins. “I hold no military rank.”

“Ah,” she replies eloquently. She observes him silently for a while. “Commander Meisler—”

“Mesh’la,” he corrects without thinking. She smiles and he glances at her wryly. He fell right into her trap.

“Commander Mesh’la, then. He is… peculiar. I like him.”

“I knew you would,” he mutters. Luminara chuckles quietly. 

“Your entire unit is peculiar, from what I understand.”

“How so?” he asks with a head tilt. 

“All of them officers, barring your—” she hesitates, her voice faltering for an instant, “ _transfer_ from the five hundred and first.”

Maul stiffens, even though he tries not to. He stares straight ahead, his spine rigid. “The High Council wanted me to form a small squad. I did. Each of their _transfers_ was sanctioned by the Grand Master.” He puts his hands behind his back and turns to fully face her. “I chose them,” he states. 

Luminara’s eyes trail over his face. He doesn’t know what she is thinking, if she sees his words as aggressive or not. She nods, slowly, then her eyes soften. It is a small gesture but at once the fight in him is all but gone. After a long moment spent in silence, she opens the door without fanfare.

The men inside the mess are all officers. They all greet Luminara with respect, the majority nodding at her with a soft _General._ When they look at him, the reactions differ—some call him _sir,_ others salute him and those who aren’t _vode_ simply ignore him. He doesn’t bow to any of them because he fears they may see it as a slight. He nods respectfully and tries to give each of them the right amount of eye contact–not too little lest it appears dismissive but not enough to be considered too intense either. He is confident his natural scowl will hide any hint of his own anxiety.

A _vod_ walks towards them with a soft smile on his face; he’s carrying a large instrument tray covered by a lid. He nods politely at him then extends the tray to Luminara.

“Thank you for coming, General. Here—leftovers from dinner.”

“Leftovers?” she repeats slowly with a slight tilt of her head. The _vod_ smiles sheepishly.

“Sweets are good for morale,” one of the nearby officers says. “They need them more than we do.”

Luminara takes off the lid and Maul glances at it; it is full of GAR-issued sweets. He takes a quick glance around and, sure enough, most of the trays lack them. He can’t help but notice that, although none of the clone officers’ trays have sweets on them, some of the natborns’ do. The officers who have them are also the ones that aren’t sitting next to clones. The sight makes him clench his fists until he remembers that he’s being watched. Sure enough—some of the _vode_ ’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. He averts his gaze to stare at the tray.

“Thank you,” Luminara says with a soft voice. She proceeds to speak with some of her officers. Maul gives them space and tries not to act like he has no idea what he is supposed to do. After a short moment of helplessness that feels like an eternity, they finally exit the mess. Luminara’s peacefulness is a balm for Maul’s psyche; he forgot how soothing it can be to stand among fellow Jedi. She glances at his direction and offers him a small, secretive smile, like she can tell exactly what he is thinking. Decades since they haven’t seen each other and, during that time, hundreds and hundreds of paths and choices taken for them to meet again here, as adults—but when she looks at him like that, Maul feels small and uncertain again. He highly doubts she does it on purpose but the sensation remains nonetheless. 

“Come with me to the sick berth,” Luminara says. The warmth in her voice is evident when she adds, “I’d like you to officially meet my Padawan.” Maul nods then gestures at her to lead the way.

The sight that greets them when they enter the medbay isn’t one he expected. Smacked in the middle of it stands Dogma in full armor, helmet cradled to his chest and completely stoic, with Stat between him and a group of _vode._

“They died because of him,” one of the _vode_ snarls, an angry finger pointing at Dogma. “My brothers died because of _him._ ”

“Don’t be daft,” Stat scoffs, rolling his eyes. “If you want to find some way to release all that pent-up anger, I’m more than willing to wipe the mats with your face.”

“Who the kriff are you?” the _vod_ asks, vexed. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Yes, you are,” his medic chastises. “You haven’t earned the right to talk to him yet.”

It is, of course, _not_ the right thing to say at all and it’s unlikely Stat didn’t realise that. Maul stops himself from sighing. His men are looking for a fight. Neither Mesh’la nor Schutta are here; it’s still salvageable. 

Which is probably why Stat decides to truly anger them by saying, “Now, go crawl behind your brothers’ kamas and let the big boys talk, aye?” He turns his back to the group, puts his arm around Dogma and steers them away, uncaring and deliberately speaking in Mando’a. Haughty disdain is Stat’s preferred method of dismissal; it is also one of the main reasons Schutta gets into fights when they are not on mission. Usually, Stat will rebuke someone in the most insulting manner he can think of, angering them beyond reason, then Schutta will throw punches at the first sign of aggression towards his brother. At this very instant, Maul is incredibly grateful his sergeant isn’t in the room. He can’t even imagine how fast the situation would have become disastrous. Schutta is a good officer; Maul has no doubt he could lead a squad with no problem. He is also extremely protective _and_ volatile—something Stat is all too aware. 

For a long moment, utter silence reigns. It’s not an easy feat, considering the size of the medbay and how many _vode_ are in it. His men are the only ones moving—specks of black and red in a sea of white. If Maul ever thought his men made friends, now he’s certain they did not. They brush past them and Stat sends a glaringly fake smile his way while Dogma looks daggers at his brother. “ _J_ _ate, alor,_ ” his medic tuts. Maul scowls. Oh, indeed—everything is fine. Every _vod_ in the vicinity exudes anger in the Force and all of it is directed at them. Yes, everything is fine indeed. Maul takes a step towards them but stops when Dogma’s eyes slide to him. There’s warning in them and his fingers subtly move on his thigh guard. _Do not proceed,_ he signs. He tilts his head but all Dogma does is stiffen even more. _Do not proceed,_ he repeats. Maul nods, subtly, even though he doesn’t understand why Dogma wants to keep his distance. His men leave the medbay like nothing happened. The tension is still palpable; the group of _vode_ standing in the middle glaring at the exit.

Maul doesn’t have time to dwell on it; Luminara leads him further inside the medbay without a word. One of the _vode_ in white walks to them then raises an eyebrow when he sees the tray. “General,” he says with humor, “Are we trying to gain favor with the men today, sir?” When she gives him the tray, he takes it without protest but the surprise is clear on his features.

“I’ve been told sweets are good for morale,” she says in earnest, taking a handful of them. The exchange seems to be over until the medic tells her, “Perhaps you should take some more, sir.” At her questioning gaze, he winces and eyes Maul warily. “The Commander’s with her. He’s… not in a very good mood.”

Well. There’s very little doubt why that is, seeing how disturbed the _vod_ is by his mere presence. Luminara takes more sweets then whispers with a soft smile, “We shall remedy that, then.” She receives a blazing grin and a respectful nod. She gestures at Maul to follow her. The _vod_ places himself between them then stares at him with a raised brow, his eyes glancing at the tray meaningfully. Maul gives him a confused look then gingerly raises his hand to take a handful of sweets, even if he doesn’t want any. Satisfied, the _vod_ nods then goes away. For a moment, Maul stares at the spot where the man stood. He feels amusement in the Force; he shakes his head and follows Luminara.

The walk is spent in silence. He can’t help but notice how full the medbay is. Their last campaign must have been an enduring one. The bacta tanks are all in use and there are no biobeds available. Combat medics all wear grim faces; there are as many of them as there are _vode_ in white. The undercurrent of pain in the Force is strong. He tries not to show how it affects him; most of the men already seem disturbed by his presence. He won’t put more stress on them if he can help it. If anything, experiencing this comforts him in the idea that he would be a terrible fit as a Jedi General. He almost stops walking when he feels the Padawan through the Force; there’s something about her. She is calm, albeit a bit stressed but it is understandable. There’s something else as well—something festering within her that she tries to conceal. Maul recognises the act all too clearly; he tried to do as such for a long time. For him, the goal was to conceal an unhealthy cocktail of anger, self-loathing and anxiety. For her—he isn’t sure. What he knows is that, were it not for Master Jon, these feelings could have led him to something dangerous.

He can’t know for sure, however, not until he truly talks with her. Unfortunately, time isn’t on his side and talking to Luminara about it may come as presumptuous or, even more, a blatant insult. He has no Padawan, after all; he is in no position to give her advice. The thought of having no Padawan of his own troubles him more than it usually does. Maul does not want a Padawan. He would make a terrible teacher. Master Jon did not want one either but, in the end, he was the best teacher Maul could have asked for. It does not mean, however, that the same will be true for Maul, should he find himself in a similar position. Mesh’la asked him about that, after they took Schutta in. _You don’t want a youngling?_ he said one day when they were on their own in the cockpit. _I thought Jedi had younglings._ Maul had blinked at first, not sure if he understood what his commander implied. _A Padawan, you mean?_ Mesh’la had snorted then said, _Sure, if it’s what you call them._ The conversation came out of nowhere, leaving Maul taken aback. _Why— Do you want one?_ He had asked, thinking perhaps it was some convoluted way to imply they needed an additional Jedi for their squad. Mesh’la had just shrugged and left it at that.

The memory disturbs him; he already feels unbalanced but it seems he is affected by the entire situation more than he should be. He can’t ponder the matter for too long; he feels one of his men before he can see him. From what he can gather, Mesh’la is with the Padawan and Commander Gree. The latter feels on edge. Maul tries not to grimace. Luminara glances at him from time to time with something akin to curiosity but doesn’t say anything. 

The Padawan is tending to injured _vode_ while Mesh’la is talking to Commander Gree. Maul can’t hear what he is saying but, judging by the way the former’s eyes shine and the latter’s flustered face verges on red, it’s nothing good. When he goes to intervene, the Padawan raises her head and looks at him with wide eyes. He winces internally; if he doesn’t greet her, he may seem standoffish. Mesh’la gives him a brief smug smirk then continues to speak to the Commander in a hushed tone. He probably came to the same conclusion.

“Master Maul,” the Padawan says with evident surprise in her voice, walking briskly towards them. He tries not to pull a face at the title. He knows how uncommon it is but he really prefers to be referred to as Knight Maul rather than anything else—and _especially_ Master. He’d hoped that underlining it on the file the GAR keeps on him would be enough but she is, after all, a Padawan, so the title must come more naturally to her. “You should be resting,” she murmurs with a slight frown. It should sound like a reprimand. Maul has trouble not smiling.

“Ah, yes, Padawan—” Oh, no. He can’t remember her name. “ _Yes,_ I should be, indeed,” he finishes lamely. He is decidedly even more off-kilter than he thought. Mesh’la is staring at him with narrowed eyes. Luminara, thankfully, intervenes at the right moment. She slides before him and smiles politely. 

“I am sure he will rest right after,” she says amiably. She goes to stand behind her Padawan then puts her hands on her shoulders. The little one seems to radiate under her attention. “Do you prefer to be referred to as Knight Maul?” Luminara asks smoothly. Of course, she’s noticed. He doesn’t even know why he is surprised.

“Please,” he answers with a soft nod. The Padawan looks embarrassed for a split second but recovers quickly. “I know it is unusual,” he offers as an explanation. It isn’t really one but he doesn’t feel like justifying his choice. 

Commander Gree extracts himself from his conversation with Mesh’la to stand besides Luminara. His eyes aren’t on him but Maul is certain he has his full attention. When he goes to put on his helmet, Mesh’la lets out a loud sigh. In a quick move, Luminara places her hand on her commander’s forearm and softly stops the motion. She takes out sweets from her pocket and gives them to him without a word. Commander Gree stares at them for a moment then his shoulders deflate. He offers her a soft smile, opens a chocolate bar and cuts it in half. He eats the first one and hands the other to the Padawan who takes it with a small smile and eyes full of glee. 

Three comlinks activate at the same time and the same voice resonates through them: “Sirs, you are requested on the bridge.” 

Commander Gree takes a step back then turns away, opening his end on his commwrist. His voice is low; if Maul wanted to eavesdrop, he could, but he chooses not to, trusting they will soon know what is going on. The Padawan frowns and glances back at Luminara, who is looking at her Commander’s back. His own commander takes advantage of their moment of distraction to come closer, until he is standing besides him.

“Her name is Barriss Offee, _master,_ ” Mesh’la mutters, voice too low for anyone else but them to hear. Maul glares at him. His commander stares back innocently.

“Yes, I already knew that _, Meisler,_ ” he lies. The other man scoffs in disbelief. “I did.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says wryly. "She is very cute. She's also extremely nice."

"Alright," he says with narrowed eyes. Mesh'la smiles. Maul tenses.

"I want one," he states. "Can we have one?"

"No," he blurts out. "We're not having a Padawan."

"Why? I told you she's nice. I have the skills; she wouldn't be my first youngling. Look at Schutta. Or Kote. Kote's nice."

"You haven't even met him."

Commander Gree turns back towards them and murmurs something in Luminara’s ear. He looks at her with intent. She nods then addresses Maul and Mesh’la.

“Come with us,” she simply says then walks swiftly away. Commander Gree and Padawan Offee follow her without waiting, leaving the two of them standing in the middle of the room with men staring at them. Maul can feel the sudden tension; the room is filled with questions and apprehension. His Commander stares at their retreating figures with a frown. He goes to open his mouth but closes it, jaw clenching. He gives Maul a side glance, shrugging, then follows them. Maul starts walking besides him without even thinking.

*

The village is empty. No lifeforms detected, according to the probe droid. Echo looks at the ruins of what was probably a house. He has trouble imagining people living there—whether it’s an entire family or just some guy. He takes a step towards it; dust rises around his boot. He _knows_ they’re in the middle of a salt pan. When he looks at the landscape, though, it doesn’t look like it. There’s no salt.

“Kesso,” Stat calls. The little probe droid beeps back at him. “Don’t go too far. We have no idea what’s going on here; I don’t want you to get lost.”

They’ve been walking around for three hours now. It shouldn’t be possible; the village they saw from the ship was more like a small settlement. It should have taken them two hours to see it all. They still haven’t. What’s weird is that they circled around the temple twice already. It should alarm him. It doesn’t—not really. Everything on this planet is kriffed up, anyway. A never-ending village is definitely not the weirdest thing he’s seen these past few days.

Behind him, Demesne walks at a slow pace. She’s been silent for almost an hour now. It’s usually not that difficult for Echo to keep a conversation going; he’s not as talkative as Fives is but he always knows when to interact with people to avoid awkward silences. The problem is that, by ‘people’ _,_ he means brothers. Talking with civilians—that’s not something he’s good at. It’s Jesse’s job, usually, or Kix’s. They’re the gentle ones, those who can coax angry or scared civs before they can become an issue. Echo, though? No. He’s no good with civilians. And, apparently, Stat isn’t either. He swallows back a laugh. If he were to bet, he’d say _none_ of the medic’s squadmates are. He doesn’t really know Dogma but, from what he heard, he lacks the delicate touch civs require. Mesh’la is—well, he’s an Alpha-class; they’re all bastards. Incredibly skilled, highly efficient and close to legendary for brothers, but still awful bastards. Then they have Maul, who is probably the most awkward Jedi Echo has ever met. He’s not clumsy–he doesn’t think Jedi can be–but he’s definitely not as smooth as General Kenobi. He’s charismatic, that’s for sure, but it’s very different from Echo’s own general or even General Koon. He’s a bit intimidating at first—then he’s just plain confusing. 

And then there’s Schutta. Schutta, who is probably the opposite of good civ-mil communication, or even good communication altogether. He’s not an Alpha but he’s definitely an honorary bastard.

Echo feels suddenly incredibly grateful for Jesse and Kix. He can’t even imagine how fast some situations would have gone to shit if civ-mil communication had been left to Rex or, even worse, to General Skywalker. Now that he thinks about it, thank the stars for Commander Tano as well. It’s insane the number of times the men saved face thanks to her. They’re lucky she takes after General Kenobi in terms of communication skills. 

“We’re wasting our time,” Stat says, his words dripping with frustration. “Let’s check out the temple.”

“The temple,” Echo repeats slowly. “You mean ‘the building whose appearance keeps changing, smacked at the heart of a village that keeps expanding’, sir?”

“ _Gar mir’sheb,_ aye?”

“I try to be, sir.” He ducks at the fistful of sand the medic throws at his face. Some of it ends up on his armor. How weird, for something that technically doesn’t exist. “How should we proceed?”

Stat hums, staring at the temple. The probe droid hovers over his right shoulder, its eye staring at the medic’s face. His whole squad treats the dark ones like they’re sentient. It’s extremely disturbing; Echo doesn’t think he’ll ever be comfortable around droids. Even General Skywalker’s astromech makes him feel a little uneasy. 

“There’s nothing to do but go forward,” the corporal says. Echo exchanges a silent look with Demesne, who just shrugs and follows the brother silently.

The temple is much bigger than expected. It’s a towering thing, even bigger than the one the Jedi live in on Coruscant. It doesn’t look anything like it. There are statues at its entrance—three humanoids. The female has long, flowy hair; her eyes are staring at the horizon. The one in the center has a long beard and his eyes are closed, head turned to the ground. The last one Echo isn’t sure if he’s crying or if it’s simply markings.

“Gods or guardians?” Demesne asks, in a tone suggesting that she isn’t really looking for an answer. “The bald one is unsettling.”

“Heh, I don’t know; I like it,” he says truthfully. He doesn’t really know why—he just does.

“No weapons,” the doctor comments. He’s not sure she’s heard him. “If they are guardians, the temple speaks of peace. Not many religions are built with peace in mind.”

“Really?” he asks with a frown. “Isn’t that the whole principle of religion? Peace, or even peace of mind?”

For a long moment, his questions remain unanswered. It’s only when they step inside that Demesne sighs and says, “For the Jedi, perhaps. Peace is at the center of their beliefs. It isn’t the case for everyone—even for those who put their faith in the Force. For many centuries, the Mandalorians were warmongering; they believed they would find solace in battle. The Trandoshans believe all living things to be connected but they equate peace with death; they fear and dread it for their entire lives,” she stops, head rising to look at the ceiling. It’s too dark for them to see it. “I have yet to find a religion that never called to war.”

“The Jedi don’t condone war,” he says with a frown. Everyone knows they’re supposed to be peacekeepers. General Kenobi reminds Commander Tano about that all the time. Demesne turns her gaze to him.

“Are they not the ones who lead you into battle?”

They hear a crack from further inside the temple. They all stop dead. Echo turns on his night scopes. They’re in an immense hall, completely empty, leading to a gigantic entrance. He takes another step forward, testing. Nothing happens. Demesne starts walking again. Nothing. 

“Not all of them are,” Stat comments, sweeping one side of the hall and gesturing at Echo to do the same. “My Jedi only has us. Others lead entire troops, aye, but it’s not like that. It’s not about what they should be but about what’s right. People are suffering throughout the galaxy. They’re not obligated to join the fight; they do because they can help. Maul would be a terrible officer so he helps his own way but General Secura has what it takes. It doesn’t mean she’s warmongering or betraying her faith. She just knows that, sometimes, you need to put things into perspective.”

Demesne hums, pondering his answer. Echo reevaluates his opinion on the medic; clearly he’s much more skilled than he is in civ-mil communication. That’s good—it means he just has to let them do the conversation on their own and comments on something from time to time so they don’t notice he’s not actively participating.

“I’m not sure this is a place of worship,” the Mirialan mutters. She walks to Echo and points at one of the murals. “This is more recent.”

“How can you tell?” he asks, genuinely curious. He can’t even date the whole building, let alone which murals are older than others. This one depicts Humanoids—probably the ones who lived in the village. They’re building infrastructures, too big to be simple housing, considering the dwellings outside. On the opposite wall, the same Humanoids are depicted cultivating flowers.

“Consider the change in artistic style and the colours,” she says, one of her fingers hovering over a painted being. “The pigments have not faded as much as the ones with the flowers.”

Stat walks back to them, nodding at Echo and signing _All clear._ “What do you do for a living, already?”

Demesne chuckles. “I have pastimes. Don’t you?”

“Not really,” the medic says. “Never considered having some.” She stares at them, frowning, but does not say anything. Echo shares a glance with Stat and shrugs. Kesso beeps, hovering over the medic’s head. “He says he can’t scan further inside. We are going in blind.” The droid beeps again. “No. You stay close to me.”

“Where are the other two?” Echo asks, pointing at the probe. Stat shrugs.

“On the base with the natborns; they found them with the boys. I’m not sure what Mesh’la did to them so I didn’t say anything. I should’ve realised something was wrong with Schutta when he didn’t ask about them,” he mutters darkly. He scratches Kesso absentmindedly. Echo refrains from commenting. During their shared op on Er’Kit, he used to mock his squadmates constantly about the way they treated the probes like they were living things. 

The probe turns to face him. He swears the thing flies closer to the medic, deliberately hiding his face from view. Echo’s eyes narrow. The droid turns its eye away.

“What language does it use?” Demesne asks conversationally.

“He speaks Sisrai,” Stat tells her, walking to the other end of the hall. “It’s more adapted to surveillance than Binary is. Don’t ask me why; I have no idea.”

“Oh,” she says. She gestures at him and Echo. “Do you all learn Sisrai, then?”

Echo shakes his head while Stat says, “I had to learn on the fly. We’re only taught Basic on Kamino. We don’t need to know more than that.”

“I learned Mando’a when I trained to become a Specialist,” Echo confirms. “Most ARCs speak it. In some battalions, troopers need to learn a new language when their COs don’t speak Basic or in case they revert to their primary language. The Wolfpack all learned Kel Dor, just in case, and General Skywalker taught us a bit of Huttese. I’m nowhere near fluent, though.”

“Huttese, huh?” Stat glances at him with a raised eyebrow. “How come he speaks it? There’s no need for Huttese in the Core Worlds.”

“He was born on Tatooine. Grew up there.”

“That’s in the Arkanis Sector. It’s not in Hutt Space.”

Echo shrugs. He doesn’t say anything else. Stat doesn’t prompt him any further. He checks his blaster. Full charge. He takes it out of his holster and looks around. He blinks.

He’s not in the hall anymore. And he’s on his own. “Fierfek,” he swears under his breath. He knows he’s inside but when he looks up he sees the stars illuminating the whole room, like there is no roof over his head. The walls are all bare save for the one facing him, depicting a mural with the three Humanoids he saw at the entrance. Below them there is a reflecting pool taking half of the ground surface. There are no exits. He shoots at the sky. The bolt is stopped by some invisible ceiling. Echo’s smile does not reach his eyes when he stares at the stars, wondering if someone is having fun at his own misery. Suddenly, he's met with the memory of his first meteor shower on Rishi.

He’s had trouble sleeping for weeks after that night. He’d been so excited; they couldn’t really see the stars on Kamino, not with the constant rain. All of his life, he’d heard about space, about the stars and the suns and the planets. He knew he’d see them all one day. The first time they left the atmosphere, Echo couldn’t see anything; there weren’t any viewports. On Rishi, though. An entire deck lit by the stars. The moment he heard the shield being activated, he didn’t think; he ran straight to the windows and watched that meteor shower like a brother looking at a Jedi for the first time. He’d been so happy, euphoric even, and he wanted to share that with Fives but when he looked at him—

He’d never seen him look miserable before. He thought, maybe, that he got scared by the impacts on the ray shield. But for the first time, when he reached for him, Fives stepped away like he’d been burned. Suddenly the only thing that mattered was that Fives had rejected him. For weeks, it ate at Echo. What did he do? Was it because he got too excited? Was Fives trying to put distance between them? The idea haunted him for days, stopping him from sleeping multiple times. It’s frightening to realize that someone can hold so much power over you, that you can’t imagine yourself living without them.

Echo never mentioned that first meteor shower. Even now, he doesn’t dare. He’s too afraid it’ll remind Fives how much they’re risking.

The sky isn’t right. He should be able to see one of the moons right now—yet they aren’t any. When he tries to turn on his commlink, the audio in his helmet whistles loudly. “What the heck!” he shouts, taking it off quickly before it can seriously damage his eardrums. He watches helpless as the HUD starts glitching until he can hear his helmet’s power go out. He stares at it for a long time, hoping it will start back again on its own. It doesn’t.

“I’m not asking for much,” he mutters, clipping it on his belt. “I didn’t even want to visit the temple.”

He sighs, looks around again. The room is large. He can see it as clear as if it was bathed in daylight. There’s no one else here but him. He starts touching the wall behind him, looking for some kind of hidden mechanism. He tries everywhere he can reach without touching the water. He is _not_ touching the water.

“Stat!” He calls, just in case. Apart from his own voice echoing in the room, he doesn’t hear anything. “Doctor Demesne!” No response. “Corporal!” He waits. Unsurprisingly, there’s no response. Kark it. “Kesso!”

There’s a ripple in the water, at the opposite corner from where he is standing. He jumps back and draws his blaster. “Kesso?” he tries. “Please tell me you’re Kesso.” He looks around. That’s when he notices that the painted Humanoids have _moved._ They’re staring at him. “Ah, no, no,” he says under his breath, taking a couple of steps backwards. “I wasn’t trained for this banthashit. This isn’t fair.”

His back meets with something that is definitely not a wall. He turns back, heart in his throat and yells.

Stat shouts back at his face, blaster aimed at his chest. “Kark you! Get tae, you karking poodoo!” 

“Don’t shoot!” Echo yells back. The Corporal stares at him, taking off his bucket, eyes wild, then blinks.

“Echo? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” he exclaims, heart still hammering in his chest. “Who else?”

“Well, excuse me! I’ve been walking in the dark, on my own, for _hours_!” he snaps. “Where the kriff did you go?”

“I don’t know!” he whispers back angrily. “I was with you and suddenly I wasn’t anymore! I don’t even know how I ended up here!” He throws an arm around wildly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sir, but there’s no doors!”

Stat closes his mouth and looks around. He frowns. “Where are we? How did we—”

“I don’t know, sir,” he says through gritted teeth. He closes his eyes, trying to calm his raging heart down. “I’ve been here for a couple of minutes.”

“Where were you before?”

“With you,” he says with a sigh.

Stat lowers his blaster. “And you’ve been here for a couple of minutes only. How reassuring.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been wandering for hours. I’ve no idea where Demesne and Kesso are. One second I was with you then I just found myself alone.” He glances behind Echo with wide eyes. “Oh wow,” he says pointing at the mural. Echo almost doesn’t want to turn back. “It almost feels like they’re looking at us.”

“I think they are,” he mumbles. “They weren’t like that when I arrived.”

“I—what?”

“Well, the woman and the one in the middle had their eyes closed,” he says, pointing at them. “And this one was looking at the water.”

“What water?”

He looks back at Stat, with confusion. “ _That_ water,” he says slowly, gesturing at the pool. The medic looks back at him with a frown.

_“Ey'ika,_ you’re pointing at the ground. There’s no water.”

He frowns. “What do you mean there’s no water,” he hears himself say, heart beating in his ears. “The pool takes half of the room, sir.”

Stat swallows, dread evident on his face. “You’re seeing a pool, aren’t you.” At his nod, he lets a shrill, short laugh escape. “I don’t see any.”

“When you look up, what do you see?”

“The ceiling?”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s… made of stone, just like the walls.” He shifts on his other foot. “You’re seeing something else?”

Echo nods mutely. Stat crosses his arms over his chest, the movement rattling the plastoid of his armor. “I see the sky but the stars aren’t right.” He points at the pool, “the water goes from here to there. There’s nothing else apart from that; all the walls are blank except for the mural.”

“Describe it to me.”

He grimaces. It’s weird to look at it when they stare back. “Three Humanoids—the one on the left is female. Long hair, green eyes, light skin. The one in the middle is male, older, long beard, blue eyes. The one on the right is male, younger, bald, red eyes. I think they’re supposed to be the statues we saw outside.”

“I don’t know what you saw outside,” Stat says slowly. “But I’m definitely sure we don’t see the same thing here.” He points to the female. “I don’t know who she is but her eyes are brown. She’s Pantoran.” He points to the one in the middle. “That’s Maul and that one is Aodh Demesne. Or whoever he is supposed to be.”

“You’re seeing Maul? Knight Maul?”

“Who else? You know another Maul?” 

“Eh, there’s a brother in the two hundred an—”

Stat makes a rude gesture at him. “I forgot how much of a little poodoo you can be,” he scoffs. “It’s a shame they didn’t train your karking personality out of you when you decided to become a bigger bother.”

“Cutup liked my personality,” he retorts. “I’ve been told I’m a very nice guy, sir.”

“That’s because they didn’t know you when you were a cadet. They wouldn’t say that if they knew,” he huffs. He turns back to the mural, pointing to the one in the middle. “Why do I see him? Why don’t you?”

“How am I supposed to know, sir?”

“You were here first.”

“I don’t see how—”

Stat quickly pulls him against him and Echo yelps with the sudden movement. He’s thrown against the wall, right behind the Corporal. “Sir?” he asks, still reeling. The medic signs _Halt_ but does not say anything. He’s aiming at the water. Echo can see the surface waver.

“Can you see it?” Stat whispers. “I see something moving but I don’t _actually_ see it. It’s like the ground is blurring.”

“It’s underwater,” he replies, taking out his own Deece. “I can follow its movement.”

“Don’t shoot,” he orders, taking a step forward. Echo tenses. The water stills again. 

“Sir,” he warns.

“I know, I know. Just—” he puts on his helmet and takes another careful step. “Don’t shoot.” He takes another step. 

“Sir, if you keep moving, you’ll walk into the pool.” He stops. 

“I can’t see it anymore; can you?”

Echo’s jaw clenches. “No.” He looks around. There’s— “Sir, I found a way out.”

“You did? How—” he turns back. “Oh. Aye, I can see that.”

They walk to the door that wasn’t here before silently. It leads to a corridor. They can’t see the other end. But they can hear voices.

“Do you hear that?” Stat asks, blaster raised in front of him. He takes point. Echo draws his own blaster and looks behind them. He can see the mural but nothing else apart from that. Without his helmet, he won’t see much once they go further in.

“Yeah,” he replies. It sounds like voices, distorted by the distance. The resonating sound of their footsteps in the narrow corridor almost covers them. He grimaces; there’s no light. He can’t see much. He takes his glow rod in hand, attaches it to his Deece then turns it on. After a couple of minutes spent in silence, Stat stops walking. Echo glances at him over his shoulder.

“They’re not getting any closer,” the brother comments. “I have the feeling I’m stuck into an endless corridor once again.” He falls silent when they hear approaching footsteps, coming from Stat’s side. The Corporal crouches and Echo turns off his glow rod. He aims over Stat’s head and waits. He can’t see anything. 

He doesn’t hear the footsteps anymore. He shifts his leg, trying to get the medic’s attention. “The HUD doesn’t detect any life presence,” he murmurs. “Can you still hear it?”

“No,” he replies. Judging by the responding sigh, he guesses Stat can’t either. 

“Let’s keep moving,” he says, getting up. Echo turns on his glow rod. The corridor leads to a wall. They’re stuck.

“Who had the marvelous idea to come in here, anyway,” Stat grumbles. Echo raises an eyebrow.

“You, sir. ‘Nothing to do but go forward’, remember?”

“Ha-ha. Shut up.” He goes to the wall, tries to find something. There’s nothing. “I hate this planet.” The voices come back. This time, they’re behind Echo. “I feel like this is a trap.”

It probably is but they don’t really have much of a choice. They retrace their steps. This time, it actually sounds like they’re getting closer to the voices. “Hang on,” he says, slowing down. “We’ve never been here. Look,” Echo points to the wall on their right. It’s carved. “Do you know what it is? Seems to be writing of some kind.”

“I can only read Aurebesh,” Stat says. “Dogma would have loved this.”

“Really?”

“Aye, sure. He’s good at languages and stuff. He’s learnt Mando’a in record time and I’m sure he can hold a conversation in Huttese with Schutta. I sure can’t; that _shabuir_ slurs so much I think he does it on purpose.”

Echo snorts. He averts his gaze and tries to shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t really know him,” he admits. “Dogma, I mean. I wasn’t really around when he arrived. Same with Tup. We only hit it off after—”

Stat nods but doesn’t say anything. They start walking again. The corridor seems much longer than it was before. The more they walk, the more writings there are. It’s a bit unsettling; he’s got the feeling that not knowing what’s written is not in their favor. After a while, they see light at the end. They glance at each other and decide to proceed. 

“He’s a good man,” Stat says after a long moment spent in silence. He doesn’t expand on his statement. Not long after, they finally glimpse the end of that kriffing corridor. It’s not the room they were in before. They look around, assessing, then step inside.

There’s another mural. There’s not much else. There are to two doors, one on each side, so they’re not stuck.

“I’m still seeing Maul,” the Corporal says, staring at the mural before them. “You?”

“No. Same Humanoids as before.” This time at least they’re not staring at them. The one with the red eyes has a dagger in his hand; he’s looking at the one with the beard whose head is turned to the other side. “The female’s missing.”

“Same. No Pantoran,” he mutters. “It’s weird; Maul is staring on the left where she’s supposed to be. The Mirialan looks like he’s going to attack him.” He looks around the room, slowly. Echo guesses he’s using the HUD to see if they’re missing something. His helmet is very ugly with those integrated headphones, but the specs—fierfek, Echo would sell Jesse _and_ Appo in a heartbeat for tech like that. Not that he’d admit it out loud.

“I’d suggest going left.”

“Left? You saw something on the right, sir?”

“Ah, no. I’m not detecting anything, to be honest. My HUD’s pretty much useless,” he sighs. “I’m only suggesting left because that’s where Maul is looking.”

“You don’t find it weird to see paintings of him here?”

“That’s hallucinations for you. It seems much more plausible that I am the one impaired rather than _Maul_ being a decoration in this weird temple. And I’m sure it’s him; he’s got the same markings and even that scar near the clavicle,” he comments, tapping at his own collarbone. He starts walking towards the mural. Echo follows him, one step behind, careful to keep both doors in sight. “It’s really uncanny,” he mutters. He puts his hand on the wall. Echo glances at it again.

“Sir,” he warns. He points his blaster at the Humanoid with the red eyes. His head moved, tilting slightly towards them. The corporal doesn’t seem to hear him. “Stop touching the wall.” The red eyes slowly settle on Stat. Echo’s skin crawls. “Sir…”

Stat doesn’t listen to him. He takes off one of his gauntlets, throws it on the ground and flattens his bare palm on the mural. Echo blinks, not sure what the heck the corporal is doing. His Deece still aimed at the wall–which, if he thinks about it, is completely insane, like he can actually shoot a painting, but then paintings aren’t supposed to karking _move_ and Echo isn’t stupid enough to think getting attacked by some mural is off the table for them–he takes another step towards Stat, puts his hand on the other’s shoulder guard and tries to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in. “Sir,” he reiterates, this time louder and with more authority behind the word. No reaction. 

“It’s her,” the corporal whispers and Echo can hear a hollow laugh coming from his vocoder. He tries to pull him away from the mural but the brother doesn’t budge. Red Eyes’ head turns again, jerky movements that make sand drop on the ground. Echo takes a step backwards. “Whatever you’re seeing, sir, it’s not real,” he says. “We need to move. Now.”

Stat doesn’t listen to him. Echo taps on his shoulder guard more frantically. Red Eyes’ legs move. Kark, kark, kark— “ _Sir,_ ” he calls, louder. The corporal doesn’t move. “For Force’s sake, sir, snap out of it!”

Stat hurls himself at him; he kicks him straight in the chest. Echo falls down on his back, sliding on the ground. Red eyes follow his trajectory.

“Snap out of it?” the medic sneers. “You think this is easy? You think I didn’t _try_?” He takes a couple of steps forward; Echo crawls backwards, not sure what he’s supposed to do. Stat takes off his helmet and spits on the ground. “Why don’t _you_ snap out of it?” 

“Sir,” he warns. “I’m not your enemy.” He really doesn’t want to incapacitate him.

“She didn’t do anything wrong but they shunned her anyway. They didn’t even try to understand!” he shouts. He draws his Deece. “You wouldn’t either. I know what you all think. I can’t let you take her away,” he says, grim determination on his face. Echo lets him approach, raising his hands. “I love her, you understand?”

“I understand,” he says with a slow nod. A couple of meters left. If the corporal doesn’t snap out of it, he’ll have to take him out.

Stat shakes his head. “No, you don’t. You don’t know what it’s like.” He aims at his chest. The blaster isn’t set on stun. Echo’s jaw clenches. 

“I understand more than you think,” he confesses. Stat freezes for an instant, eyes searching.

_I’m here,_ Echo remembers whispering, teeth nipping at Fives' jaw. _I’m here,_ he repeated, over and over, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. He had known, even before landing on Coruscant, Echo had known. He'd seen the reports, heard the rumors; it hadn’t taken long for the men to talk about what happened on Umbara. The 501st hadn’t even set foot on the planet that most of the brothers had already known. He’d hitched a ride with some of the boys from the 212th on his way back from Er’Kit, already reeling from the bloodbath he’d witnessed. 

When Echo entered the barracks on Coruscant, none of the brothers tried to get his attention. It’s funny; once you go ARC, brothers keep pestering you. That day, though. They all saw his paint. They all knew that the boys in blue and gold should be left alone. He went straight to the small arms. He didn’t need to ask; he already knew he’d find him there. 

It was late. Too late for troopers to have access to the range. Echo was a specialist. If he wanted to train in the small arms at zero dark thirty, no one was going to stop him.

When he was inside, he took off his pauldrons. He let them fall on the ground, uncaring. He walked and took his belt off, dropped it with his kama, then his chestplate, backplate, shoulder guards and gauntlets. He dropped everything on the ground with each of his steps, then pulled off his uppers and finally, _finally,_ when Fives put down his blaster, Echo pushed him against the wall and kissed him. _Take it off,_ he groaned against his lips, pulling at his pauldrons. _Take it all off._

His hand trailed from Fives’ shoulder to his wrist, marveling at the expanse of his skin. It was a soft motion, completely at odds with their impatience and heat, but Echo pressed the pads of his fingers on Fives’ pulse point, breath hitching at the rapid heartbeat, then circled his wrist, thumb resting on his palm. He took his hand, pressed his own against it and watched it from every angle. The palm had calluses on it, the thumb a slashing cut on the tip. The skin is rough and warm; it smells like blaster oil. This hand had killed; it led to the destruction of countless droids, it took many lives and would probably take many more in the future. This hand also made Echo shiver and keen; it brought him joy and warmth and life. 

He brought it to his lips without thinking, kissed the palm, tasted the tip of a finger with his tongue, teeth nibbling at the skin and, for an instant, nothing else seemed important.

Echo doesn’t wait—he kicks the blaster out of the way, pulls Stat into a triangle choke and switches their positions. He flips him on his stomach with a double wristlock and uses his own weight to stop him from moving. He looks at the painting—it’s not moving anymore. “Fight it,” he sneers in the medic’s ear, mimicking the aggressive snarl Alpha used with them whenever he wanted them to surpass themselves. “It’s not real, sir. Fight it.”

Stat still tries to rear back, growling. Unfortunately for him, Echo is heavier, stronger and trained to behead B-1s with his body. He’s not moving away anytime soon. “Fight it,” he reiterates, putting his fingers on his trachea, momentarily cutting out his breathing. He repeats it, again and again, until Stat stops trashing so violently. “You’re stronger than this, brother.”

It’s instantaneous; Stat stops fighting. Echo releases his neck; he takes a big gulp of air then his back rises with each quick breath he takes. He stays on top of him, waiting for him to regulate his breathing. It takes an entire minute spent in silence, tension high in the air but finally Stat puts his forehead on the ground in submission. The painting doesn’t move. Echo releases his wrists. Stat doesn’t try to push him off.

“Karking ARCs,” he complains with a wince. “Heavy bastards, the lot of you.”

“You with me, sir?” he asks, hands resting on his thighs, ready to help him up or block him again. Stat nods mutely. He taps on his backplate, asking for verbal confirmation.

“Aye, Echo,” he says. “I’m with you.”

It’s enough for him; he stands up and offers him a hand. Stat takes it gratefully. When they’re both standing, he notices that the corporal is avoiding eye contact; he takes his helmet, puts it on and puts his Deece back in his holster. He stares at the wall opposite of the mural.

“Thank you,” he mutters, low enough that Echo wouldn’t have caught it if not for the crack of the vocoder. He looks at the ground, picks up his gauntlet then puts it back on. “The others don’t know.”

Echo averts his gaze, looking at the left exit. Technically, he doesn’t know who _she_ is. Telling Stat that won’t change a thing; what matters to the Corporal now is that Echo knows. He knows enough—he has leverage. It doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t really know the specifics. He could say he won’t tell anyone. He could say he’ll keep his secret. It doesn’t mean he will. Stat has no guarantee he will.

Funny how Echo can easily relate to that. 

When he glances at Stat, the corporal is already watching him. For a long moment, they just look at each other. He could say he understands. He knows intimately what it’s like to love someone you’re not allowed to; he doesn’t know who _she_ is but it’s clear she’s forbidden. Judging by Stat’s reaction, she’s not a civilian. They’re not allowed to have relationships with civilians–or anyone for that matter–but it’s more or less tolerated. As long as they’re smart about it, the natborns seem content to look the other way. If she were a civilian, he wouldn’t react so strongly.

Echo doesn’t really want to think about the implications.

He can’t really reassure him. Any promise he makes won’t hold for much. There’s nothing Stat can do if he decides to go back on his word.

“I’m risking everything, everyday,” he says instead of useless reassurances and empty promises. “I made a choice, a conscious one, when we were on Kamino. I know the consequences.” His throat closes up despite himself. Fierfek, it’s even harder than he thought it would be. He averts his gaze for a moment, takes a deep breath, clenches his fists so they stop shaking. “And Fives knows them too.”

_No, really,_ Fives said one day, during that first leave on Coruscant after they went ARC. _Do you think they’ll give us citizenship?_ Echo kept staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, his fingers playing with Fives’ hair. He didn’t want to say it out loud but he doubted they would ever be considered Republic citizens. They’re clones; they’re made to protect the Republic, nothing more, nothing less. He glanced at Fives, his head lying on his stomach, eyes closed. Echo would have given anything for them to stay like this forever. It’s incredible, that feeling—like he could reject everything he is, go against everything that makes him _him,_ just so he’d be able to stay in that moment for as long as he wants. The instant he stepped into Fives’ pod on Kamino—no, the moment he stepped out of his to go there—Echo accepted the fact that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for him. It’s frightening to realize that you don’t know yourself, to see how far you will go for someone else. It’s frightening to know that there’s no line he wouldn’t cross for Fives.

He looks back at Stat, chin high. The Corporal doesn’t say anything. After a long moment spent in silence, he nods, once.

“Go left?” Stat asks, jerking his head towards the exit. Echo shrugs then gestures at him to lead the way.

They enter a large room. It’s circular; there’s a skylight from which they can see one of the moons. Rex and Maul lie on the ground, right below it, both unconscious. Stat runs to them without thinking and Echo follows suit.

The medic signs _Halt,_ stopping him from touching either of them. He scans them quickly. “It’s getting worse,” he mutters, crouching next to Maul. He takes a hypo out of his belt and stabs the Jedi with it. “I don’t have the right equipment here.”

“What’s getting worse?” he asks, crouching next to Rex. He looks okay but he’s definitely out. Echo frowns. He’s holding Maul’s lightsaber. Stat opens one of the Jedi’s eyelids and sighs in frustration.

“His infection; he’s got a fever running and I have no idea why but I’ve no pupil reflex.” He curses under his breath. “I’m no Jedi healer and most of what I find about Zabraks is useless with him. Dathomirians’ differences with their Iridonian counterparts run deeper than skin pigmentation.”

“He’s Dathomirian?” Echo didn’t know that. He knew that Maul looked unusual but he’s never seen a Dathomirian male before. He doesn’t know anyone from that planet except for Ventress and, from what he understood, all of them were Darksiders. He knows there used to be a Sith from there as well but this one died before Echo's time.

“Born but not raised,” Stat says. “He grew up in the Temple on Coruscant. Scoot over.” He takes another hypo and pushes Rex’s head on the side. “Alright. Hold him tight; I don’t want him to punch us.” Echo takes hold of the Captain and nods to Stat. “It’s going to be instantaneous. Be ready. One, two—”

As soon as he stabs him, Rex jerks awake and tries to get free of Echo’s hold on him, headbutting him in the process. Stat snaps his fingers at his face. “ _Can it, soldier,_ ” he orders, with the voice Kix uses when they’re out of it and dangerous. “Medic’s order.”

It does the trick; Rex freezes. Echo feels blood running over his lips but he doesn’t dare let go of him yet. Stat takes off his helmet, hands him a gauze pad while staring at Rex. “Name, rank, designation and unit.”

“Rex, Captain, CT-7567, 501st Legion’s Torrent Company,” he drills automatically. He looks around frantically until his eyes settle on Maul. “What did you do t—”

Stat snaps his fingers again. “ _Captain._ What is the last thing you remember?”

Rex’s eyes narrow at the harsh tone. He scowls; clearly, he doesn’t like Stat’s tone but he knows there’s not much he can say against the medic. Echo can’t blame him. The corporal is a downright bastard and it took Echo dealing with medics who aren’t Kix to understand that, no, not all medics are nice and soft brothers and that Kix was actually an exception. 

“None of your karking business.” Stat snaps his fingers when his eyes wander again towards the Jedi. “He senses hallucinations.”

“What do you mean?” the medic asks with a frown.

“He can hear them,” he sneers. 

Stat glances back at him. Echo shakes his head.

The Jedi moves. He winces, eyes still closed, then bites his lower lip, hands clenching. Stat curses and turns back. 

Rex headbutts Echo hard and escapes his hold. Before any of them can react, he ignites Maul’s lightsaber and pushes Stat away, taking his blaster in the process. He aims the Deece at them and holds the blade like General Skywalker does before striking an opponent. Echo freezes.

“Stand back,” he growls, placing himself in front of Maul. Stat takes a step forward. Rex shoots right in front of his boot then aims at his head, a clear warning. “Stand. _Back._ ”

The Corporal raises his hands, slowly. “Captain,” he says slowly. “I just want to help him. Look at him.” He gestures with his chin. Rex blinks. “He’s hurt. Look at him.”

The Jedi groans. Rex glances back at the sound; it’s enough for Stat. He hurls himself at him and viciously stabs a hypo in his neck. The Captain falls down; Stat catches him before he can touch the ground and lays him down gently, the motion too smooth to be anything but pure instinct. He goes right to Maul’s side after that.

Echo touches his own neck and decides to hug Kix as soon as he sees him.

“ _Jate, alor,_ ” he hears Stat whisper. He scans him again and the frown on his face is very telling; Echo doesn’t need to ask why he doesn’t give him anything. There’s nothing more he can do to alleviate his pain, not with what they have available. 

He doesn’t say anything, just takes the forgotten lightsaber off the ground and looks at it. It feels weird; it’s lighter than he imagined. He feels shivers at the back of his spine, like he’s doing something forbidden, holding it without permission. He averts his gaze and approaches them, crouching to put it back on Maul’s belt. 

“His fever should recede. We just have to wait,” Stat comments. “I don’t know what happened to them but they’re both in bad shape. Maul’s readings differ from what Deebee reported. I’d wager they’ve been through a lot since. Seeing how the captain reacted, they might’ve encountered more than their fair share of hallucinations.” Or whatever they’re supposed to be. He sighs heavily. “We need to find Demesne. She can’t be faring well on her own.”

Echo nods silently. That’s considering she’s still safe and sound. With what this place put them through, that’s a big supposition. They haven’t been attacked but it’s easy to start questioning everything, especially for someone on their own. He gets up and checks his blaster. He freezes.

“Er, sir,” he says, trying not to panic. “You don’t remember me using my blaster, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he shows him the cartridge. It’s half empty. “It was full before we got separated.”

“Ah.” He fumbles for his own, takes it from Rex—which makes Echo wince. They completely forgot to take it away from him in case he woke up. “Fierfek. Mine’s almost empty. I don’t remember blasting a thing.”

They stare at each other. Yeah. There’s a higher chance they don’t remember using them rather than the charges depleting on their own. It’s not reassuring in the slightest.

“Do you think,” Stat begins to say, “maybe that’s not the first time we meet up with them?”

It takes a long time for him to understand what he’s implying. Even then, he’s not sure he does. “You’re joking, right? That’s not—” Echo scoffs. He shakes his head. “No. No, no. I wouldn’t attack Rex!”

“Fives attacked Jesse. I saw it; we’ve got footage of it,” Stat argues. He jerks his chin towards the captain. “It would explain why he reacted like that.”

“But we don’t have hallucinations.”

“Oh? What do you call seeing murals move, then?”

“Kriff,” he mutters, putting a hand on his face. He takes a deep breath then releases it as slowly as he can. He repeats the process. Breathe in and out. In and out. Kark, what he wouldn’t give just to have Fives with him right now. He lets his hand drop, grazing the handprint quickly, just for himself, and opens his eyes.

He’s on his own. Again. He takes a look around. He’s right back at the entrance of the temple.

“Echo?” He turns at the sound of his name and sees Demesne, a relieved smile on her face. Kesso is behind her, hovering next to the Near Human. “Thank the stars, you’re okay.” She closes the distance and takes his hands in her own then squeezes once before releasing them again. He blinks at the gesture, a bit taken aback. “When you and Stat disappeared, I didn’t know what to do so we called in Ulam.”

“How long has it been?” he asks. She checks her chrono.

“Five standard hours.” He nods mutely. “Do you know where Stat is?”

“I was just with him and—” 

The temple starts shaking. Before he realizes what’s happening, the Near Human yells at them to get out; Demesne takes his wrist and runs, pulling him with her. When he turns back, it’s already too late; the whole building collapses on itself. He shouts and tries to run back in but the Near Human pulls him away.

“Let me go!” he yells, thrashing. Ulam releases him but it’s too late. “They’re in there! They’re inside!” He tries to push away some debris but all he accomplishes is having the entrance completely destroyed. “Kesso! Scan for lifeforms!” The probe beeps erratically but starts scanning immediately. Echo is reeling. It can’t be; what the kark happened? Why is he here? Why aren’t they?

“Who’s inside?” Demesne demands, shaking his arm. “Is Stat there? Who else?”

“Rex,” he rasps, his breathing fastening. He can hear his heartbeats in his ears, muffled by a loud ringing. “Captain’s in there with Maul.” He puts his hand on his mouth, notices that it’s covered in dust. He glances down. He’s covered in dust. For a long moment, he stays frozen, unable to move. It's fear, he knows. Right now, Echo is afraid.

Echo’s scared all the time. He’s scared one day he won’t come back from the field. He’s scared one day he’ll come back but Fives won’t be there anymore. He’s scared neither of them will come back and no one will remember Domino Squad. Fierfek, sometimes he’s just scared to fall asleep because he doesn’t want to wake up to his own muffled screams. Sometimes he’s scared he won’t wake up when Fives sees their brothers dying again and again, trapped in his own mind. But he's rarely afraid. He clenches his fists and looks back at Demesne and Ulam.

“We’ve got three men down there; we need to sweep the area for survivors,” he states. “I want you two to stay close to me; we do _not_ lose sight of one another. Is that clear?” Both of them nod, determined, and turn on their glow rods. Echo can't be afraid. He can’t lose face now. “Alright. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- jate, alor: eveything's alright, sir (lit. good, leader)  
> \- gar mir’sheb: you’re a smartass (i couldn’t find any particle to indicate irony so i’m assuming prosody is enough)  
> \- ey'ika: lit. little echo
> 
> do you know why Maul is actually always referred to as Knight Maul, despite the fact that they don't really do that with Jedi Knights in the gffa? it's because i think it sounds cool. and that's it


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: should i add ‘horror’ to the tags?
> 
> Just noticed i never replied to the comments on chap.14,,,,, it’s been months now and im afraid to reply,,,,, please just know that i cherish each and every comment even tho i’m an idiot 🙈

“Earlier on the bridge—what happened?” Maul asks his Commander.

“Schutta happened,” Mesh’la grumbles, sucking his teeth. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sir, but we’re not exactly very popular on this ship.” 

“Well, it’s not very surprising, is it? Most of the time, troopers think we are covert ops.” In the soldiers’ defence, they _do_ look like covert ops. When Mesh’la chose their armor specs, he went with undercover work in mind—and their squad do not properly follow the chain of command. By all appearances, they’re bad news. He has yet to meet a trooper who does not automatically stiffen when he hears their vocal scramblers.

“Yeah, that’s not it. We’re not welcome here— _Vod’ika_ especially.” He cuts Maul off with a simple shake of his head. “Schutta has a real blind spot when the kid’s concerned. Worse than Stat. I had to confine him to _Scimitar_ or he’d have fought with every man on board.” He stops walking abruptly. Maul slows down then turns back, tilting his head in confusion. “I know you got some of those chocolate bars,” Mesh’la says very seriously. He extends a hand, palm up. “I’m not getting karked this time. I want one before Stat eats them all.”

Maul takes one out of his pocket and throws it at his face. When he turns back, Commander Gree is looking at them over his shoulder. Maul tries to smile innocently; it is very odd as an adult to feel like he just got caught by Madame Nu doing something he shouldn’t have. The Commander stiffens then turns back on his feet, ignoring them. Mesh’la snickers. Maul keeps walking, not waiting for him, and, when his commander catches up, he rolls his eyes just to see him grin.

When they step onto the bridge, Mesh’la opens the bar and starts munching on it. The Rear Admiral stares at them with open disdain. His commander makes a surprised hum. “Heh, that’s _good_ ,” he says, handing him a square. Maul grimaces, stomach protesting. “You need to eat, sir,” he insists, poking him with it until he relents and eventually takes it. It’s actually quite good. He genuinely thought the GAR would be able to make flavourless chocolate.

Rear Admiral Tenant is waiting for them at the holopod. The others place themselves where they stood last time, now with Luminara flanked on each side by her Commander and her Padawan respectively. Maul and Mesh’la stand side by side. The Rear Admiral leaves the bridge with a sour twist of his mouth, followed by the majority of the men. A hologram appears. It’s a Human male and, judging by his outfit, he’s a Jedi. It’s when he turns back towards them that Maul’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Knight Maul?” Skywalker blurts out, bewilderment evident on his face. “You’re… shorter than I expected.”

“Okay?” he replies, nonplussed. He can feel his commander’s joy bumbling. For a moment, he is too dumbstruck to realise that Luminara already started talking. Skywalker looks so _young._ He knew, in some distant way, that he had to be but to see it with his own eyes is something else. When he answers her, Skywalker radiates confidence with a twinge of cockiness. Did he learn this from Obi-Wan?

“—am still on Coruscant and will probably remain there until the conference on Valor. Ahsoka will go to Illum once she leaves Onderon and Captain Rex is…” he scowls, “unavailable.”

Luminara nods grimly. “Our last encounter with General Grievous has been nearly fatal. I’m afraid an operation on this scale will be difficult to achieve for us. What about Master Kenobi?”

Skywalker inclines his head, the beginning of a frown forming on his face, crosses his arms over his chest and lets out an almost silent sigh. Maul’s hearts ache at the display. His actions are purely instinctual, that much is clear, and definitely something he’s used to do. These gestures, in this exact order, are mimicry at its finest; Maul is reminded of a young Obi-Wan sighing in concentration whenever he encountered something he was not ready to deal with yet.

“Master Kenobi is en route to Raydonia,” he says, jaw clenching. Maul’s eyes go to Luminara; he tenses without conscious thought in response to the spike of sorrow he feels from her.

“Is he certain?” she asks and the bridge feels cold. His hearts hammer in his chest; he has no idea what is happening but he feels something is afoot. 

“We felt it. It’s him,” Skywalker says. Maul blinks. Mesh’la, besides him, goes rigid. He doesn’t have time to wonder about it before the young knight continues, “It’s Savage Opress. He’s alive.”

For a moment, Maul stares at Skywalker’s cybernetic hand and his mind goes blank. It hits him without warning; all of a sudden, he is bombarded with memories of Nar Shaddaa. He blinks and he’s back in Hutt Space, seconds from leaving the flat where he met with his Commander, the Mirialan and Aurra Sing.

“Your bedside manner leaves much to be desired,” Mesh’la tells Demesne. He gives Maul one final nod and they go for the door. He positions the Mirialan behind him. Sing hangs in the back, slugthrower in one hand and a blaster in the other. 

As soon as Mesh’la opens the door, the lights go out. Sing curses. Maul takes a deep breath and regrets it immediately. This is going to be difficult. “Behind me,” he orders, taking his saberstaff in hand. The corridor is pitch black. He can see but he’s probably the only one who can right now. He ignites one end, the walls now bathed in yellow light. Someone opens the door to their apartment. Sing is quick to aim at them. The young Nikto raises her hands in alarm and squeaks. “Get back inside,” Maul says, getting her attention. Her eyes widen when she sees the plasma blade. “Lock the door. Do not come out,” he commands, feeling other beings standing behind their doors. She nods and hastily goes back inside her flat. 

“Stairs?” Mesh’la asks. Maul grimaces. They don’t have much of a choice. “We need to get out of this building before we’re surrounded,” his commander continues. “Assuming it’s not already the case.”

He’s right. He can feel tension within the group; Mesh’la’s mind is quiet, hyperfocused on their surroundings. It's a balm for Maul, who is irked by Sing’s force signature. She's not inherently dark but the hatred and anger seeping from her is far from providing a pleasant experience. The Mirialan, on the other hand, radiates calm. It is slightly unsettling.

They walk through the corridor silently and he focuses on the people he can feel around them. Mostly he senses fear and resignation; those who live here are unfortunately used to this kind of situations. _Halt,_ he signs then crouches and retracts the blade. Mesh’la positions himself right behind him, turns on his rangefinder and Maul can hear him swear. “Left the 19 on the ship,” he grumbles, regular 15s in hands. Once they start shooting, they’ll give away their position. “I got two underground below—” he taps the tip of his helmet on one of Maul’s horns. He can hear the buzz of an incoming transmission. “Negative, sarge, maintain the high ground. Check your perimeters,” his commander orders in a low voice. His vocoder is off; Maul can only hear him because he’s standing right behind him. “I got two Tangoes spotted— _negative,_ sergeant. Disengage, I repeat, disen—”

They hear the sound of a grenade outside. Sing curses vehemently. Well. So much for stealth. Maul activates his commlink and keeps the volume on the lowest setting. “ _Me juuz ku, wermo!_ ” Schutta yells, the sound of blaster fire heavy in the background. “ _Taking heat; where’s my karking backup?_ ”

“ _Inbound, sir. I’m half a klick out; check your radar_ ,” Dogma responds.

“ _Copy that, D. Three EKIA. Moving on to next building North-East. We need to secure the source._ ”

Behind him, Sing tenses. “Who the kark are you guys?” she snarls. Besides her, the Mirialan chuckles.

“Can’t you hear? They’re not Mandalorians—they’re clones,” he whispers. “You lads are called to do the Republic’s dirty work, yeah?”

“ _Breach and clear. I need eyes in the skies, boys_ ,” Schutta says. _Base, what’s the status?_ ”

“ _D, you are cleared to proceed,_ ” Stat intones. “ _Sarge, be advised you are being tracked. Tangoes North-East of your position. Reporting four new incoming._ ”

“ _Alright, we gotta start clearing out, D. Let’s wrap this up and RTB soon,_ ” Schutta responds. “ _Squad, I need you to proceed to the South-East entrance._ ”

“Copy,” Mesh’la says through gritted teeth. Maul raises his chin so one of his horns rattle against his helmet. “Rooftop, sir,” he says, vocoder on. “Path clear.”

“Very well,” he replies. “Do you want me to take point?” Mesh’la hums then pats his shoulder.

“Cover our backs. Vev formation; Sing, with me.”

Her movements are stiff but she flanks the commander without protest. Positioning himself behind Demesne, Maul turns back, eyes behind them. With the Mirialan in the middle, they slowly advance towards the stairs. He can feel pain bleeding through the Force; he’s not sure if it’s his or Sing’s anymore. 

“ _What’s the status on our source here, squad?_ ”

“Clear for now,” Maul answers the Sergeant. 

“ _I got bogies above!_ _Southbound, frontside of building—wait for my signal,_ ” Dogma shouts. “ _One down. Moving in._ ”

“ _Fierfek, D! What the kriff are you doing? Those are Z-6 jetpacks!_ ” Schutta yells over the commotion. “ _Hit the deck! Hit the deck, you karking moron!_ ” A loud explosion booms outside. Their party freezes instantly.

“ _Dopo mee gusha, peedunkey?_ ” Dogma shouts in their comms over the sound of his firing blaster carbine. “ _Reloading._ ” Maul has an inkling that whomever he was insulting won’t be here for long. “ _Targets knocked on the roof. Bogies are down. Skies are clear, sir._ ”

There’s a victorious laugh coming from the comlink. It eases their tension for a while.

“ _Look at him, sarge; they grow up so fast these days,_ ” the Corporal exclaims. “ _DRK-1s in position; I now have visual, boys. Let’s see if we can get this show on the road, shall we?_ ”

They start walking again. When they reach the top floor, Maul has to beat a coughing fit. When he takes a look at his glove, he’s incredibly grateful to be the only one able to see in the dark. It appears he is coughing blood. He has mostly lost feeling in his left hand. Well. There is no time to dwell on it. When they’re at the exit, Mesh’la turns back, staring straight at him.

“Status report,” he asks. “Is someone waiting for us outside?”

“ _Tangoes spotted_ ,” Dogma says. They wait. The shot of a DC-17m on sniper mode breaks the momentary silence. “ _Missed shot_.” 

“ _Correct for wind speed, D_ ,” Schutta says. There’s another shot. “ _Attaboy_.”

“ _Squad, you are clear to proceed_ ,” Stat responds. “ _Be advised there’s a bounty on our resident Zabrak’s head. Honestly, I’m jealous; it’s insanely high._ ”

“ _Really? How much? D, I’m betting top bunk for eight cycles—fifty thousand. You?_ ”

“ _Er. I, er—_ ”

“Maintain composure, men,” Mesh’la chastises. “I need you to stay focused on the mission.”

“ _Copy that, sir. I got your kamas,_ ” Schutta drawls. “ _Whenever you’re ready to come out._ ” Mesh’la juts his chin out. Maul nods back, eyes wide open. His commander opens the door, slowly, takes a peak outside. “ _I_ _got you covered, sir._ ” He steps outside, Sing right after him. Maul can see that the moment Demesne goes out, he will be exposed. They proceed anyway; they do not have much of a choice. Once he’s out, he sees Dogma on the opposite roof and two speeders behind him. He checks around—there, three roofs south, is Schutta in sniper position. He smiles. “ _Su’cuy, alor,_ ” the sergeant says dryly. “ _I’m gonna need you to help them jump across._ ” He nods in reply. “ _D, you got inbound_.”

“We’ll go first,” Mesh’la says, gesturing at Demesne. He doesn’t wait; he throws the Mirialan on his shoulder, runs towards the edge and jumps. Maul catches them mid-flight, gives them a slight push ahead and his commander lands gracefully, Demesne spluttering on top of him. “Sing, you go,” he orders.

Maul doesn’t have time to say anything; she makes a run for it and jumps without even thinking. The show of trust should be welcome but he’s too distracted by a disturbance in the Force to truly notice. 

Something happened. He doesn’t know what it is but he felt it nonetheless. It’s a slight tremor, a repulsing shudder at the back of his spine. Somewhere in the galaxy, something happened—something important. Somewhere, darkness is rising. He feels out of balance; he almost misses Sing when she is halfway between the two rooftops.

It is a major mistake. An energy bolt goes right through her. He doesn’t think; he throws her away, right into Dogma’s open arms and looks around. He doesn’t feel any threat, can’t see any either. When his commander yells, his hearts beat erratically.

“ _CC-4816, stand down! That’s a direct order!_ ” Mesh’la shouts, uncaring of the high volume of his voice, how it resonates in the street. “ _Stand down!_ ”

Sing is still breathing. From what he can see, it isn’t good but it isn’t fatal. The blaster bolts keep coming. Schutta is too good; Dogma has to put himself in front of her like a shield. Maul can feel outrage and hatred rise within the Force. He bites on his tongue, does not focus on his pain, takes a leap straight to his sergeant, landing on his roof silently. He locks his saberstaff on his belt, runs towards Schutta and throws himself at him, taking advantage of the forward momentum to make him lose balance. They roll on the ground; the sergeant’s helmet flies out in the process. Maul puts his arms around Schutta to stop him from shooting, uncaring of the pain lacing through him at the motion. “Stop,” he whispers, arms tightening around his sergeant. There’s hissing and kicking but Maul does not budge. “Stand down.”

“Let me go,” the man seethes, headbutting him in the process. White spots start appearing behind Maul’s eyelids but he remains coiled around him, tightening his grip until the _vod_ is almost suffocating. “Let me go, you kriffing Sith-spawn! I’ll kill you!”

“Stop,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “I need you to get your head on straight, Schutta. We need to go, now, and—”

“Kark you, _sleemo_!” he sneers, a wet sob choked back in. His body is shaking violently. “She killed him! She killed my—”

“It won’t bring him back, _Shu’shuk_ ,” Maul says, putting his chin on top of his forehead. He closes his eyes and muffles his sergeant’s angry wail on his shoulder. He says nothing when the hands stop punching to clutch at his clothes. It takes agonizing seconds, the hurt, the rage, the pain and the sense of helplessness in the Force feeling like Maul’s utter failure. Then Schutta stops shaking. It’s instantaneous; everything he bled out through the Force disappears. He projects nothing now—a blank canvas, the result of mental conditioning and absolute self-repression. There is nothing more painful for Maul than to experience this, to know _he_ is the one asking for his sergeant to efface himself for the sake of the mission. The fact that this is what is required from his men at all times sits heavy on his stomach; in a better life, Maul would do something about it, would fight against it. He could find reasons why he doesn’t but he won’t. Excuses would change nothing for his men, only comfort him in the idea that he is doing everything he can. It is a lie. “We need to move,” he says instead.

“Yes, sir,” Schutta replies automatically. They get up in silence. His sergeant checks his blaster, puts his helmet back on then stands straight, waiting. Maul activates his comlink. “Commander,” he calls.

“ _We’re en route, sir,_ ” Mesh’la responds. He’s on a speeder. “ _ETA one zero merns_.”

“We can join them quickly enough if we go now, sir,” Schutta says, pointing at the street below. “We have Bloodfin.” Maul stares at him silently. His sergeant doesn’t shift. 

He hates asking but… “Will you be—”

“Yes, sir.”

“ _It’s getting quiet_ ,” Stat comments. “ _You cleaned house well, boys_. _I think the bounty hunters either got scared or they’re all dead._ ”

Or they are waiting for the right moment. There is a high chance Mesh’la will get ambushed at Sing’s ship. Maul crosses his arms over his chest; he stops himself from wincing when the movement puts pressure on his ribs. He’s not sure he’ll be able to stop Schutta a second time, should the need arise. “Very well,” he sighs. “Let’s go.”

His sergeant drives. Stat’s voice is a constant, giving them directions and arguing with Kesso the whole time. Maul has trouble focusing on what they are saying. Breathing is becoming more and more difficult. When they arrive, Sing’s ship is open; he’s heard of Jango Fett’s infamous ship but to see it with his own eyes is something else. Dogma is waiting outside on his speeder, his Deece in hand, body straighter than a pole. Maul does not need to see his face to know he’s staring at Schutta with worried eyes. When he sees the sergeant, the hand on his Deece twitches. It is set on stun. Maul signs _All clear;_ it does not have the intended effect. Dogma turns his helmet to him and tilts his head. “Sir,” he says, his frown audible. “You’re injured. You shouldn’t be standing.”

“Yes—” he starts but he has to close his mouth before he coughs more blood. Dogma squares up his shoulders like it is a personal affront and walks towards him swiftly.

“Do _not_ stab him yet, baby,” Mesh’la intervenes, stepping out of Sing’s ship, the Mirialan right behind him. The bounty hunter is nowhere to be seen. “We’re not out of the poodoo just yet.”

“I’m not ‘baby’,” the _vod_ protests. 

“Of course not,” Mesh’la says very seriously. “You are a fierce warrior. You just happen to be very cute too. It’s not a weakness, baby; it’s a serious advantage.” His helmet turns as he takes him and Schutta into account. “Sergeant, with me. I drive, you shoot. D, you take care of our guest here.” The Mirialan winks at the _vod_ , beginning a conversation Maul does not want to be a part of. Mesh’la waves his hand at him to get his attention. “You take the lead. I want to know when we’re going to have surprises on the way.”

Maul nods and jumps back on Bloodfin. He allows himself to close his eyes for a second, the pain difficult to control. His commander walks to him. “About what happened—”

“The mission isn’t compromised,” Maul says over him. “We arrived on time and we were not followed. You did not require our help.”

He can feel his commander’s frustration like a physical presence.

“You can’t keep covering for—”

“As you said earlier, commander, _we are not out of the poodoo just yet_ ,” he reminds him. “We ought to get back to base.”

Mesh’la does not reply. “Stat,” he says. “I want you and the kids to sweep before us. We need alternate routes. Open-comm until we’re back.”

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

He stays next to him but doesn’t say anything else. Maul stares back, face carefully blank. He has swapped his Mandalorian helmet for his Kaminoan gear. It looks strange to stare into the black mask while Mesh’la wears beskar. “Shall we go?” he asks pointedly. Mesh’la walks away without a single word. He lets out a sigh of frustration and flinches when his ribs protest. The sooner they’re back, the better. His hands on Bloodfin’s handlebar, he waits. Dogma puts his speeder right behind his. Sing’s ship closes down and the turbines start. She wouldn’t be able to pilot the ship herself, considering her injury. Maul doesn’t know who is with her but he knows they should go before she decides to turn on them and collect his bounty. Kesso flies to him, angry beeps cutting through the silence; he’s holding that wretched helmet the men want Maul to wear from time to time. The HUD and built-in comm facilitates communication but it sits oddly on his horns, clearly designed with Iridonian Zabraks in mind. “I don’t—”

< No headgear increases chance of mission failure. HUD activates INSTANT COMM with SQUAD. Headgear is required to facilitate communication. DRK-1-KS0 likes INSTANT COMM. Does MIR’SHEB like DRK-1-KS0? >

“Emotional blackmail, I see,” he replies dryly, accepting the helmet. He needs to have a conversation with whomever taught him that. He highly suspects Dogma is the culprit—he’s been using emotional blackmail to keep them in line these past weeks. As soon as he puts the helmet on, he hears Mesh’la say, “Squad, activate your scramblers. Open comm at all times.”

“Yes, sir,” Dogma and Schutta respond at the same time. 

“Oh, I like that,” the Mirialan exclaims, only hearing their scrambled voices. “It’s unsettling. As if you guys weren’t scary enough. I’ve never seen a trooper in black before but it suits you, my friend. Can I have a helmet as well? Or your name.”

“I’m Dogma,” the _vod_ replies, knowing fully well that Demesne did not understand a thing.

“Stop kriffing around, boys,” Stat drawls. “Bodee reports incoming Tangoes North-East. Get the kark out.”

Not waiting anymore, Maul starts up Bloodfin and leads the way. Following the route with the HUD and Kesso at his side is easier and it takes him a couple of seconds to notice it. They’re being followed—it’s something fast. A living thing but not a sentient one. “Be advised, we are being tracked,” he informs the men. “167 degrees. Non-sentient.”

“Copy that,” Schutta responds, voice tight. “I got eyes on it. It’s an anooba. Commander?”

“Don’t kill it. Maul, D, keep forward. Its owner can’t be that far.”

Only three klicks out. His vision is getting blurry. He stays alert and tries to ignore all the signs of an impending blackout. He takes a left turn—

It’s too late when he sees it; a plasma bolt goes right through Dogma’s speeder. It rolls over and Maul has to hit the brakes and contorts himself to follow their crash. He holds them in mid-air while the speeder goes flying through a nearby building. “Take cover!” Mesh’la shouts and another bolt almost grazes Demesne this time. Maul pushes them behind him and Bloodfin, jumps off and—there, on the roof, is their assailant. The crashed speeder goes up in flame, creating an explosion; people scream and run all around. “Take Bloodfin,” he says through the chaos. “I’ll take care of it.” He jumps to the roof; even with a push of the Force, his body screams but he ignores it. He ignites both blades and lands almost on the bounty hunter. They dodge his attack; he raises his head, eyes on his target. Of course. It’s Embo.

“Oye, Dzhedai,” the bounty hunter says, bowcaster at the ready. “Kewe kowlting ando go?”

“I do not speak Kyuzo,” Maul replies, adopting a defensive stance. He needs to stall as long as possible. “I do understand Mando’a, if you prefer.” Basic grammar is difficult for many non-native speakers and, from what he knows, Kyuzo grammar is more similar to Mando’a than Basic.

“Mi na sasa mandoa.” Kyuzo it is, then. “Gif Aodh, im xalte wit mi.”

“Go,” Mesh’la says through his commlink. “I’m staying behind.”

“Sir—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

Embo is circling him. “I’d rather not fight you,” Maul admits.

“Gif fo mi Aodh, Dzhedai. To na sasa kemang im, keyá? Im sabakawala mal.” The bounty hunter starts shooting. Fighting it is, then. It takes a considerable effort to dodge the bolts; Maul cannot feel the left side of his torso anymore. Embo throws something at him. He’s not sure what it is—for an instant, his vision blacks out. He barely dodges it; it’s his infamous hat. When he turns back, the bounty hunter is already on him, kicking him with all his strength, cutting the air out of his lungs. Maul takes an unrefined swipe at his legs, to no avail; Embo jumps away, going for his hat, which he sends again. A slash of his staff throws it away. It goes straight to Mesh’la.

“No,” he whispers, panic rising through him. Why is Mesh’la here?

The distraction is enough for the bounty hunter—he hurls himself at Maul and kicks him in the chest. Straight at his already failing heart.

It stops beating.

One of his knees falters. He can’t breathe. Embo freezes, surprise written all over his stance, but it doesn’t last long; he pushes him with all his might. They’re at the edge of the roof. He falls.

“Maul!” Mesh’la catches his hand, stopping him. He starts lifting him up; behind him, Embo aims at the back of his helmet with his bowcaster. Maul doesn’t think; he uses the Force to shove the bounty hunter as far away as he can. The Kyuzo goes flying—unfortunately, the momentum pushes him away as well. Mesh’la loses his grip on him. Maul blacks out, free falling.

_Is that you, brother?_ he hears, like an echo, from a voice he doesn’t know. He's somewhere else before he can truly understand what's happening. He hears screams, feels like his mind is shattering into thousand pieces. It’s dark; he can’t see anything. He hears whispers—a mantra repeated over and over and over. It sounds like he’s the one talking. He doesn’t recognise his voice. The shadows are oppressive, memories of a life he never lived. There’s pain intermingled with single-minded rage, hurt and anger and hatred, fueling him to keep going, to progress, to evolve. He doesn’t feel his legs. _Always remember, I am fear. Always remember, I am hunter._ All at once, he’s suffocating. It’s his deepest failure, the dark side drowning him. He feels it through his bones, his flesh, his mind—there’s only darkness, rage, fear, anger, _hunger._ He wants more; he wants it to stop. He is a prisoner in his own mind. _Always remember, I am filth. Always remember, I am nothing,_ he keeps repeating, words laced with pain, fear and a deep sense of failure. The fear is encompassing; he’s nothing, there’s nothing left for him—his mind, his body, his entire being is shattered, left to rot in the filth. He used to have goals, desires and a purpose; now he has nothing. He is nothing.

In the end, hatred wins; he hates with his entire being. Death, he longs for death, not for himself, no—death to all Jedi. He yearns for it, yearns for the kill. _Brother,_ he hears but it’s not what he wants. Die, die, _die,_ he repeats. Kill the Jedi, kill them, kill him. The name slips on his tongue, feels like murderous poison and the sweetest promise. Oh, how much he yearns for it. There’s only this—the need to kill, to destroy, to maim—the power of this name, everything that it entails. Revenge. 

_Kenobi,_ he whispers and it’s the only word that makes sense in an ocean of madness.

“—closer than your squad, sir. We’ll arrive before them,” his commander concludes. Maul blinks, takes a step backwards before he can falter. It takes him a long moment to be aware of his surroundings again. His own body feels foreign for an instant; he doesn’t breathe like he is used to, doesn’t stand like he usually does, doesn’t exist like he is supposed to. The Force feels difficult to access—he expects hunger and pleasure, power and gratification; all he feels is eternal wind, a connection to all living beings. Rather than feed upon it, he lets it flow through him. His commander’s gauntlet taps against his own; Maul startles. He’s on the bridge of the _Tranquility._ The hologram of Skywalker stands before him, Luminara and Commander Gree on each side of it. Next to him is Mesh’la. 

Maul has no idea how long he’s been absorbed in his own mind. 

“Alright,” Skywalker says, staring at him with hard eyes. If looks could kill, Maul would be done for. His commander redirects the attention on him, keeping the conversation running.

After a while, the hologram disappears. Maul has no recollection of what they have been talking about. He doesn’t realise Luminara has been trying to catch his attention until she touches his arm. It takes all of his strength not to flinch away.

“You had a vision,” she states, no doubt left in her words. “What was it?”

Maul takes off his gloves to stare at his own hands. For an instant, he’s surprised they’re not yellow. “I—” he has to swallow, his throat dry and his hearts hammering. He touches his legs, the need rising all of a sudden. They’re still here. He doesn’t understand why he is so relieved by this. 

“Sir,” Mesh’la snaps. “We need to check in with the sarge.”

Luminara takes a step back. His commander shifts, enough for him to stand between them. She looks at him with a frown on her face but she doesn’t say anything. Mesh’la shifts again, enough for his kama to graze him. When Maul looks back up, all he can see is his back. Mesh’la is shielding him. He has no idea why he is both relieved and offended. 

He follows his commander without thinking, unable to focus on anything. When he blinks, he's not on the bridge anymore. He is in _Scimitar_ ’s second bunk room. He’s on the bottom bunk. He tries to sit up straight but freezes when the weight on his shoulders groans. Arms snake around his chest and squeeze in retaliation. “No,” Schutta grumbles, mouth muffled by Maul’s robe. His sergeant is half sprawled on top of his back, in a position that cannot be in any way comfortable. His breathing is slow, like he’s close to falling asleep. Maul doesn’t move. Using his thigh as a pillow, Dogma snores softly, the rise and fall of his chest a soothing motion, his arm circling his waist, hand clutching at Schutta’s wrist. When he glances up, Stat’s hand is dangling off the top bunk.

Mesh’la is staring at him from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, face impassive. When Maul tries to sense him through the Force, he feels nothing; he’s met with a wall of steel.

“The commander just gave us the _Gree_ light,” the _vod_ drones. “We’re leaving for Eredenn Prime in two hours.”

Maul tilts his head in confusion. “I thought we would wai—”

“Demesne’s theirs. We don’t need to stay here any longer.”

His commander turns back and walks away without a second glance. Maul wants to go after him—but he sees Dogma and he doesn’t dare to move. He stares at the empty space where Mesh’la used to be and wonders what went wrong.

He doesn’t remember when exactly he fell asleep but he regrets it immediately when he wakes up. Schutta is _heavy_ and Maul’s back does not hesitate to remind him of the fact. He shifts just a bit; it’s enough for his sergeant to growl. “I need to move, _Shu’shuk_ ,” he whispers. He stops himself from snorting when the one who actually moves away is _Dogma_ while Schutta just plainly ignores him. “ _Ni copaan dayn, tat,_ ” he tries again. 

“No,” he snarls. “You’re not leaving.” The loud command makes him wince at the same time Dogma flinches.

“Schutta, you stupid moof-milker, let him go,” Stat snaps from the top bunk. “Ship’s locked; he’s not going anywhere. Let me karking sleep in peace.” It’s instantaneous; Schutta stiffens at the words. He raises his head with murderous intent in his eyes. He pushes Maul and Dogma away to stand up and, before anyone can stop him, he jumps on the top bunk. “Oi, what do you think you’re doing!” the medic shouts. There’s movement, what sounds like punching and shoving. “Get out of my—”

Dogma groans in frustration, his fingers massaging his forehead. Stat yelps then shouts with all the indignation he can muster, “You absolute idiot! Now you woke him up!”

“You both did,” Dogma mutters wryly, staring at Maul with a blank expression. He jerks his head at the door. _You Go. I Cover this area,_ Dogma signs. When Maul doesn’t move, he takes his wrist and squeezes it once until he releases it to stand up. He jumps on the top bunk. Maul leaves to the sound of his men shouting, too absorbed in their argument to notice him. He closes the door to Schutta getting thrown on the floor. He sighs.

He makes a detour by the ‘fresher then goes to the cockpit. Mesh’la is standing next to the holopod, staring at a map of Eredenn Prime. “Sir,” he acknowledges him without glancing up. Maul stops at the lift’s entrance, taken aback. He tries to nudge him mentally, sees what’s wrong but he is yet again blocked by a wall. He is being barred from his commander’s mind.

“Mesh’la,” he calls, taking a step forward and suddenly all he can sense is blinding rage before the shields are back up again. He stands stock still, surprised and hurt. “I—”

“Just—” his commander shakes his head, sighs in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just give me some time.”

“I did something but I do not know what,” he scoffs. “Tell me. Otherwise I may do it again.”

“I know you’ll do it again,” he snaps, raising his voice. He switches the hologram off abruptly and turns away, his entire body rigid. Maul takes another step forward.

“Mesh’la—”

“No,” he shouts vehemently. He turns back and points an angry finger at him. “You don’t get to win this time.”

“Win,” he repeats. “I don’t even know what I did; how could I possibly win? _What_ am I even supposed to win?”

“ _Ne'johaa_!” his commander snaps. Maul reels back, eyes wide. The other man seethes, shaking his head in frustration. “Look at you. You don’t even see it. How can you be so blind?” He raises his hand, signs _Halt_ when Maul tries to answer him. “You were completely out of it on the bridge! Our next assignment is highly sensitive and you haven’t recovered from that stupid stunt you pulled on Nar Shaddaa. You—” he closes his eyes, fists clenched. He’s so angry it’s painful to see him try to reel it in.

“I just need rest,” Maul says. “I’ll be ready.” It is apparently the wrong thing to say.

“And what if you’re not? What if you die?” he says, voice rising. “You thought about that? Huh? When you decided to go on your own against Embo, did you ever think about the consequences?”

He stays silent. Is this why he is angry? Is it because he did not wait for backup? He cocks his head. His commander is enraged by the gesture. He puts a hand on his face and breathes, slowly, trying to calm himself. It takes a long moment but all Maul senses now is defeat.

“I can’t lose you. We can’t lose you,” Mesh’la whispers like it’s a shameful admission. “Do you understand what happens if you die? What happens to us? What happens to _them_?” he asks, pointing to the lift. “They’ll get _decommissioned._ There’s no transfer in the cards for them—you get that? You think Dogma will get sent back to the 501st? You think he’s going to serve under Commander Gree, here? Look what happened. The moment he set foot outside, the men were ready to beat him up on sight,” he snaps. “Stat won’t get another chance either. The moment you die, he’ll be sent to Kamino. And I won’t be able to do a single thing about it. The best I can do is secure a position for Schutta with the Marines and you know their casualty rate; he won’t survive long and that’s the best case scenario. Worst case? Neyo finally gets him and my brother gets wiped as soon as I look away.” He walks to the pilot seat and lets himself fall on it, burying his face in his hands. “I’m angry, alright? I’m angry at myself,” he says. “I’ve been ignoring how precarious our situation is because it’s convenient. I can’t anymore.”

Maul stays still. After a long moment spent in silence, Mesh’la gets back up and goes to the lift. “I already made the calculations for the first jump. Wake me up for the second one,” he says before the doors close. Maul does not know how long he stays staring at the lift.

He sits down on the pilot seat, checks that everything is within parameters then requests permission to take off. When he finally powers up the ship, the hologram of Luminara appears on his dashboard. “General,” he says. She smiles.

“Good bye, old friend. May the Force be with you.”

He tries to smile back. “May the Force be with you as well, Master,” he says with a small nod then cuts down the transmission.

*

“I—I don’t—”

Maul takes his hand away and shifts slightly. Rex shuts his mouth. It takes all of his will not to move. Maul signs _Halt_ and Rex tenses. _One,_ he signs and points to their direction. If they arrive from there, they don’t have any cover. Rex puts a hand on the Jedi’s arm and tugs. They need to move. He takes the comlink in one hand and Maul’s wrist in the other. 

“I can hide you,” a voice says and Rex freezes. His hand on the Jedi tightens. He turns to the voice and stares. “I won’t hurt you,” Cody says, hands raised in a gesture of peace. Contrary to Rex, he’s armed. “Let me help.”

He hears footsteps and sees the beams. They don’t have much time. He pulls Maul towards him and hides them behind a broken pillar, the Jedi flushed against his back, hoping it will be enough. They don’t have much light here—Maul’s eyes are too bright. He puts fingers on the Jedi’s forehead who closes his eyes silently. He squeezes his arm in thanks. Cody crouches next to them.

“Don’t be stubborn, _vod_ ,” he tells him. The lights are getting closer. “You have no cover here and you know it.”

“Kark off,” Rex sneers between clenched teeth. Behind him, Maul shifts.

“Captain _,_ ” the Jedi whispers against his ear. 

After debating with himself for a couple of seconds, Rex says stiffly, “Cody.” He can feel him tense behind him.

“Don’t move,” Cody says before light floods them. Cody puts himself in front of them and Rex freezes. He squints but he can’t see who’s holding the glowrod. Right at them. Kark. Rex gets ready to—

They turn around. “No one,” a woman says, walking away. She’s got an accent from the Core Worlds. He thinks he knows her voice but he can’t seem to recall from where exactly. After an entire minute spent waiting, Maul taps on his shoulder and signs _Halt_ before they hear footsteps. _Inbound, One._ A beat. _Steady._

Rex hears someone above them and he doesn’t think. He jumps, latches on their legs and takes them down with him, flips them so he’s got them in an armlock and puts a hand on their mouth before they can scream. The man tries to get out of the armlock in vain, his legs kicking in front of him. “Let me,” Maul whispers and gets closer. “Sleep,” he says and waves his hand in front of his face. The man stops struggling and, after a couple of seconds, he stops moving all completely. He’s out cold. Rex loosens his grip and, when he realizes he’s not tricking them, he releases him. He moves him on the ground and takes a good look. Near-Human, middle aged, a bit taller than him and much leaner. He let go of his E-5 when Rex jumped him. A Seppie blaster—a _droid_ blaster; it gets too hot for organics when you use it repeatedly. 

Rex eyes his jacket and grimaces. He hates to admit it but—he’s cold. He may have thermals on but the temperature’s too low for them to be enough. Without his armor on, he feels the cold seeping through. While he asks himself if he should steal his jacket, Maul takes it off the man and throws it at his face. “I can withstand colder temperatures than Humans,” he tells him while taking the comlink strapped to the man’s wrist. The Jedi touches it, fingers going over the buttons, mapping it. Rex averts his gaze and puts on the jacket silently. It’s a tight fit but it’ll do. He finds mostly useless things in the pockets–empty vials, an oily rag, ration bar wrappers. “Here,” Maul tells him, handing him a canteen. Rex suddenly realizes how dry his throat is. He opens it, drinks a quarter of it then hands it back to Maul, who takes it silently. He watches him swallow careful gulps. He shifts and takes a look around.

“I do not remember how we arrived in the temple but you’ve been hallucinating Cody ever since. I do sense him but I cannot hear him,” Maul says, then hands something to Rex. “Here.” A ration bar. His stomach growls at the sight. Kark, he’s hungry. When’s the last time he ate?

“Thanks.” He cuts it in two and shoves ungraciously half of his portion in his mouth. It tastes like mud-drenched flimsiplast. It’s the usual high-protein flavor. Disgustingly tasty. He hands Maul the other half but the Jedi shakes his head. He lets his hand hang between them. “Take it, sir.”

“I can go without food longer than you can, captain.”

Rex frowns. It could be some sort of _Jetii_ lie out of selflessness or it could be true. 

A thought comes to his mind; are Zabraks carnivores? “It’s enhanced protein, sir,” he says, just in case. Commander Tano can eat most of the GAR ration bars but the veg-meat ones aren’t ideal for her growth. The GAR’s food supplies are catered to clones, which can quickly become an issue for non-Human military personnel with carnivorous diets. During a long campaign planetside, when supplies started to run low, Rex went hunting with Jesse and Commander Tano to find her fresh meat. They brought back enough game to camp to feed their squad for the evening and have enough supplements for the commander for a week. He’s pretty sure medpacks weren’t designed to keep meat fresh but it worked. 

Rex was the only one who'd learnt how to skin and cook wild meat, courtesy of Alpha, but it wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed. Thank the Force for General Skywalker, who did most of the work without blinking, like it was something he’d been doing all his life, or most probably what he did before he arrived on Coruscant. Rex remembers that evening, with Fives singing raunchy songs around the fire and General Skywalker sharing with them memories of his teenhood with General Kenobi. He remembers Jesse’s wide eyes when he saw Commander Tano eat raw meat and the following day when everyone but the _Jetiise_ fell sick because clones aren’t used to food that isn’t rations. He still thinks it was worth it. That evening is one of his most cherished memories.

Maul chuckles, bringing Rex back to the present. “I’m half human. I’m not strictly carnivorous,” he explains. “It is nonetheless very thoughtful of you.”

“You’ve got no excuses, then,” he replies, poking him with the bar. The Jedi huffs but still takes it. He’s decidedly more graceful than Rex when he eats his half which, to be fair, isn’t very difficult. “Anything else I should remember?”

“I’m not sure,” he tells him, taking another bite. “As soon as we woke up in the temple, we were attacked.”

“Attacked? By who?”

The Jedi munches silently for a while. “My own hallucination,” he admits wryly. “I was… indisposed afterwards.”

“He means he passed out,” Cody huffs. “You can’t trust him, _ner vod_.” He shifts to crouch right next to him. “Ask him who he’s hallucinating. You’ll see.”

“Sir,” he hears himself saying. “Who’s your hallucination?”

“I cannot sense him anymore,” the Jedi replies. Rex’s eyes narrow. He’s dodging the question. Cody elbows him softly. He points to their right. Maul takes in a sharp breath. “Echo,” he mutters.

“Echo?” Rex repeats. The Jedi nods and stands up before he can react. He walks to their right and climbs up gingerly over the debris, high enough Rex almost can’t see him anymore. “Sir, wait,” he whispers sharply. He’s completely ignored. He takes the E-5 and follows him.

“ _Eyayah,_ ” the Jedi calls. He’s walking precariously over the debris like he would on solid ground, completely uncaring and sure of his footing. It’s definitely _not_ the case for Rex and _he_ ’s the one who can see. _Dikut’la Jetiise._ When he finally joins him, he can see lights coming toward them. Then, nothing. He tenses. Whoever is coming after them doesn’t want to be seen.

“Get down,” Rex snaps, pushing him down with him. They have no cover here and the ground is unstable. Cody joins them silently and crouches besides him. 

“Sir?” someone calls. Sounds like Echo. “ _Ibic Eyayah. Me’vaar ti gar?_ ” He puts his hand on the Jedi’s mouth before he can talk and pulls him against him. Maul tenses and tries to push him away. Rex doesn’t budge. “ _Tion’vaii gar?_ ”

“Let him come to us, sir,” he whispers. The Jedi stops moving. “We don’t know what kind of mindstate he’s in.” He waits for a beat, another, but finally Maul nods. He relaxes a bit but keeps his hand over his mouth, just in case. They hear the heavy footsteps of clone boots, accompanied by the flaps of kama. Rex scowls. He has his shell; if they have to fight against him, it’s going to be a problem. After a while, the footsteps go further away. Cody tilts his head; his fingers brush the bottom of his helmet repeatedly. It’s oddly reminiscent of General Kenobi when he strokes his beard, deep in thought. Rex never saw him do that before; he’s not sure if his hallucination just inferred it could be something Cody would do or if he’s just overanalyzing _something that doesn’t even exist._

“Hey, can you lick the _Jetii’_ s ear?” Cody wonders out loud. Rex stiffens immediately. His mind goes blank. “No, I’m being serious. I want to know if he’s going to squeak or if h—”

“Shut your karking mouth,” he whispers in a sneer. “Fierfek, what the kark is wrong with—” He stops short when the Jedi shoulders him and makes a questioning sound. Rex freezes. His brother hums appreciatively. He wants to be swallowed up by debris and never come out. “Cody,” he grumbles. Maul makes another sound, prompting more, and he closes his eyes for an instant. Just a short instant. “Nothing important, sir.” The Jedi tenses and taps on the hand covering his mouth politely and Rex can feel his lips moving against his palm. 

“Do not let him distract you,” the Jedi mutters when he releases him, brushing the Seppie blaster absently with his hand. Rex is entranced. “Each time he tried to, we were attacked not long after.”

“Attacked? By who?” When he sees the hand freeze, he stops himself from sighing. “Your hallucination?” he asks wryly. Maul winces.

The ground below them cracks. They both freeze. That’s not good. That’s not good at all. “Sir,” he starts but cuts himself short when he feels rumble below. Maul takes in a sharp breath and pulls him against him before he can react. The ground collapses. They fall.

Coiled around him, Maul executes a perfectly balanced spin so that he’s the one they land on. The drop isn’t too high but the impact pushes the air out of his lungs and he swears he can hear a gasp coming from Maul. They’re thrown into deep, freezing waters, chunks of debris falling around them. Rex opens his eyes and panics; he can’t see anything, isn’t sure what is upside down. Something grazes his leg, something fast and organic. Something big. He freezes. He can’t see anything and he can’t hear shit either. He blows air out of his mouth; it tickles his chin. The way out is down. He swims as fast as he can, discarding the jacket, and hits something; he tries to push it away and jerks back when glowing golden eyes appear out of nowhere right in front of him. _Maul,_ he tries to say, like an idiot, and he feels the water move below them. Time to get out. He pushes the _Jetii_ towards the surface and swims right behind him, just in case he has to pull him up. He’s lacking air. When his hand breaks the surface, his lungs decide to call it quits; he almost breathes water before he’s finally, _finally_ above. He pulls Maul with him, who coughs harshly, and yells, “out! We need to get out _now_!”

“Help!” he hears behind him. It’s a brother’s voice. “‘m here!”

He doesn’t think; he swims straight to the brother, pulling the Jedi with him. Maul doesn’t need help. It’s a karking relief. Suddenly, the Jedi stops and spins Rex in front of him. “I’m pushing you out,” he says. “Ready?”

“What about you?” he retorts. He feels droplets of water on his face and blinks. Maul ignites his blades above the surface. They’re a karking beacon here.

“No time,” the Jedi replies. “Find Stat.” And _there,_ he feels the push, that weird sensation of getting flung by something invisible and intangible. At least, this time, he’s been warned. When he lands on the ground, he rolls with the motion instinctively and turns halfway to see where Maul is. 

He can see the lightsaber underwater, the Jedi twirling and spinning with it. Around him, there’s a giant beast, so big he can’t even see it entirely, and Maul is severing off each limb that goes for him. 

He’s going to get himself killed.

One of the tentacles takes hold of him and he’s flung above the surface; he takes in a sharp breath and growls. The blades are turned off and suddenly they’re plunged in darkness again. Rex opens his mouth to shout when one end of the saber is ignited. There’s a squish and the beast lets out a horrific yell. The tentacle is cut in half and Maul spins, landing on the beast. He plunges his lightsaber into its head and runs over its enormous skull, blade slashing through. The beast howls and thrashes, its limbs constantly going for the Jedi, trying to dislodge him. He pulls his ‘saber out, ignites the second blade and Rex sees limbs dropping into the water in a flurry of yellow. Then, unexpected, Maul jumps right into the beast’s mouth, lighting its insides. He disappears swallowed by a rounded maw lined up with multiple rows of sharp teeth and they’re once again plunged in darkness. Silence reigns. He shouts after the Jedi in alarm.

“Captain,” the brother calls, slurring, voice closer than expected. He jumps, surprised—he completely forgot. “M’blaster.” Rex fumbles in the dark, patting where the voice is coming from. He touches something moist and he tries not to think too much about it because it feels organic. “Take it,” Stat says, the accent unmistakable, and it’s clear he’s in pain. Rex finally touches the blaster and takes it from the medic’s hand who also gives him something else. “Bucket,” he gasps and Rex puts it on without thinking.

It’s heavier than his own and the HUD is entirely different. There’s more information than he’s used to but it’s really the headphones that throw him off; he can hear vibrations around him. He senses Stat behind and the beast in the water. From what he can gather, there’s only one. 

“How do I switch to night vision?” he asks. He blinks. His voice sounds distorted, from far away; he expected the slight echo the helmet’s vocoder gives but it’s different.

“You’ve the scrambler on,” Stat whispers immediately and he can hear him as if he just said it in his ear. “HUD’s eye tracking.”

Alright. He looks around. There’s a part that’s not written in Aurebesh; he ignores it. Must be to communicate with the dark ones. Then, 315 degrees, something that could resemble a night vision icon. He stares at it. The HUD changes; now he can see without issue. He activates what he thinks is heat tracking. The beast’s cold blooded, almost the same temperature as the water surrounding it—in its center, there’s a searing figure moving around. Maul’s still alive, fighting the beast through the inside. Rex doesn’t wait. He aims the blaster at one of the beast’s eyes and shoots. The reaction is immediate; it jumps out of the water and straight for them. He aims for the eyes, taking three of them out of the way and the beast recoils, pincers trying to claw at its own body. Its belly lights up and suddenly the end of Maul’s blade cuts through its hide. There’s a last, terrifying screech then the beast drops backwards and sinks into the water. Rex can see the Jedi’s hand surging out, pushing outside. He gets out, covered in stuff Rex would rather not think about and jumps away only to land safely beside him, ten meters away from the sinking beast.

Panting and shaking, Maul drops down on his knees, one hand stopping him from falling head first on the ground, the other clutching his lightsaber. He makes a distressed noise and Rex shakes himself from his stupor to go to him—but the Jedi gets up and walks briskly further away before dropping down again.

“ _Su’cuy, alor,_ ” Stat rasps and for the first time Rex takes a look at him. He can’t see him much because Maul is looming above him, hand hovering but not touching.

“You’re hurt,” the Jedi says tightly. “Where? I can’t see. Where does it hurt?”

“Did you kill it?” the medic asks. At the responding nod, he sighs and his head drops back on the wall behind him. “Good. good. How d’you do it?”

“Its hide was too thick. I had to do it the other way around,” the Jedi mutters. 

“You let it eat you? _Hod Ha’ran, alor,_ ” he says with exasperation then winces. Maul tenses immediately. Rex takes a step forward to assess the damage. His face’s a bit swollen but his armor seems intact. He lets his eyes trail down and— “There was a leg. D’you see the leg?”

“A leg,” the Jedi repeats. His hand touches the chestplate then goes downward, to the hip, brushing the upper half of his thigh plate. Then it freezes. There’s nothing less after that.

Rex’s hand starts shaking. He stares at the ground around it. It’s covered in blood. What he touched, fumbling in the dark, was a chunk of flesh.

“It’s alright,” Stat says. “It’s magsealed. Made the tourniquet myself. Can’t feel a thing—I’m still high on stims.” He smiles wryfully. “Y’know I just painted that kneecap.” He shivers uncontrollably. “Armor reg temp went out an hour ago.” Maul tears what’s left of his uppers and takes Stat’s upper armor plates off him efficiently; he crouches, taking him into his arms. The brother snakes himself around him and hisses. “Mark my words—I’m never complaining about Zabrak body temp ever again. You stink.”

Rex squats down besides them but doesn’t try to get closer; he’s soaked through and trying to quell down his own shivers so he’s no use. “What happened?” he asks, looking at Maul’s face. The Jedi put Stat’s head in the crook of his neck; his eyes are still staring into the void. He suspects it would still be the case if he could see.

“Turn off the scrambler, sir,” the medic mumbles. “Ninety degrees.” 

When he looks on his right for a couple of seconds, the HUD changes to its usual blue. Heh. “Can you understand me now?” Stat’s grin is a bit strained but the intention’s there. “What happened, brother?”

“I was trying to stabilise Maul then I don’t know what happened. Was on my own, in here.”

“You were with us?” the Jedi asks. His hand is hovering over the injury. Rex averts his gaze. They can’t see it; he’s got a helmet on.

“Aye, me’n Echo found you. You were out of it. Both of you,” he mutters. “It’s Demesne. The temple. Demesne did that.”

“Reeva Demesne? The aunt?” 

“No, the informant.” Maul shifts.

“Aodh Demesne is here?” he asks. Rex has no idea who that is. Stat moves his arm away from Maul to point at the wall behind him. 

He takes a step back. He didn’t notice earlier. There’s a massive painting of a female Humanoid. She’s staring where Stat lays with a soft smile on her face, her long green hair flowing around them, her hands cupped around the medic.

“Captain?” the Jedi asks with a worried tone. He must’ve made some kind of sound.

“She’s moving,” he says, like an idiot. 

“Who?”

“She’s protecting me,” Stat says. “Demesne was on the opposite wall. Don’t know where he went but the temple collapsed and I fell into the water.” He snorts, teeth chattering. Maul embraces more tightly. “She helps but I’ve lost blood. A lot of blood.”

“I can sense her but… she doesn't feel like the other ones,” the Jedi says. “I—she feels familiar. Does she look like this?” He rolls up one of his pant legs and the commlink they found drops on the ground. Rex’s eyebrow raises but he doesn’t say anything. Maul turns it on; the hologram of the Pantoran girl appears.

“That’s her,” Stat says, eyes going wide. “You know her, sir?”

“Wait,” Rex interrupts. He points at the mural. The _moving_ mural. “You mean _her_?”

“That’s how I see her,” Stat says as if it explains everything. “Echo saw her with green eyes and fair skin. Maul?”

“I can’t see her at all,” the Jedi murmurs. “I recognise her voice. This is the girl I met on Takodana.” Rex blinks. The female on the mural is definitely _not_ Pantoran. 

“What d’you mean you can’t see her?”

Maul shifts but doesn’t answer. “We need to get you back on _Scimitar_ ,” he mutters instead.

“Not yet,” Stat says immediately. “If you move me now, I won’t make it to the ship.”

“Then we musn’t wait—”

“Aye, we must,” he cuts him off. “You can’t feel it?” He takes Maul’s hand and puts it right above the injury. “ _I_ can.”

“Sir?” Rex prompts. He still has the blaster at the ready. He tries not to think too much about the fact that he’s considering shooting _a wall._ The Jedi doesn’t reply but he raises his hand and touches the mural. 

Several things happen at once. 

Light surges and blinds Rex; he winces at the same time he can hear Maul gasp. He takes the helmet off, backs away then lets it drop on the floor to aim at the mural. The karking thing is lighting up like a droid popper in a Seppie factory—the figure moved. She’s staring right at Maul, who’s staring right back at her, eyes flaring. He doesn’t think; he jumps and pushes him away but the damage’s done. Stat is saying something—he’s not sure what because Maul is convulsing in his arms, unresponsive, then stops moving. Panic overwhelms him. He’s babbling, he can hear it, so he bites his tongue harshly, drawing blood, takes hold of the Jedi’s head and says, “Can you hear me, sir? _Sir._ Please respond.”

“He’s fine,” Stat repeats. “Give him time. We’re fine.” Above him, the figure moves again; she straightens, turns her head to the side then closes her eyes, crossing her hands on her chest. The light goes out. Maul gasps, eyes opening. His pupils move everywhere until they settle on his face. The Jedi smiles and lets out a relieved breath.

“Hello,” he mutters, one hand rising to hover over Rex’s face. “It’s good to see you again, captain.”

Before he can respond, Maul gets up and goes straight to Stat. “We’re leaving, _tat,_ ” he tells him softly and there’s a certainty in his tone that makes Rex’s entire body relax. The medic nods mutely. “Can you wal—” he cuts himself short, closing his eyes for a second.

“It’s alright,” Stat says. “It’s magsealed. They’ve enough bacta to fill the tank on the base. Help me up.” When they help him, it becomes quickly clear that he can’t stand on his own. Rex hesitates, not sure how Stat will react, but Maul beats him to it when he decides to carry him. The medic doesn’t comment on it. Somehow, this makes Rex even more nervous. He’s got a feeling he’s the type of brother to protest quickly—that he doesn’t isn’t very reassuring.

“We got to find Echo. He’s above; I could hear ‘im looking for us,” Stat explains. Maul looks at him with confusion.

“You didn’t call him?”

“No. She told me to wait for you. She smiles just like her,” he says softly with a shrug by way of explanation which, for Rex, isn’t one at all.

Maul looks at him silently so he shakes his head helplessly. When the Jedi’s eyes slide to the painting, his mouth twists. “She doesn’t look like the girl I met on Takodana at all. I think you’re the only one who sees her like this.” He shifts so Stat can see where he’s looking. “The Force is very strong here. I can feel it now.” He turns back to Rex. “Something is trying to deceive us. I don’t know what it is but I can sense it is feeding upon us. We need to find the others and leave.”

“It’s Demesne,” Stat says before he can speak. “It’s the one I see who looks like him. Every time I’ve seen these murals, she was always the one calling me; took me time t’ understand but she was warning me.”

“Warning you?” Rex says with a frown. “Against what?”

“Against him,” the Jedi replies, understanding dawning on him. The medic nods. 

“I met up with the Seppies when I lost contact with you two. There’re only three survivors,” Stat explains. “The others started developing the same symptoms as the men after they began field testing then died one by one. I think the tests created a chain reaction, somewhat, with this place. ’s one of the lost temples, right?”

“No,” Maul replies. “I don’t think so. The Jedi weren’t always the only ones to believe in the Force, however—still aren’t, for that matter. It is clear this was purposely built on a Force nexus. Now, my mind feels clear, here. The temple’s connection to the Force is very strong.”

Stat shrugs. “In any case, I met up with Reeva Demesne and two other civilians. They’re the ones who set up the explosion. We found the boys on the Seppie base and brought them back to their field test site. They’re safe for now but they’re all unconscious and I’ve no idea what to do.”

“They’re awake,” Maul says. “Mesh’la is confused but he’s fine.”

“Then we need to go there,” Rex says. He still feels out of his depth but he’s so used to General Skywalker confusing the kark out of him that he just rolls with anything now. “We have to get them back and secure the blueprints.”

“Kesso already has them,” Stat says. “The prototype is destroyed and I’ve uploaded all the Seppie files to the medbay’s mainframe. I didn’t tell the others, just in case. Both of the enemy sites are rigged with explosives. I’ve armed one of their proton bombs in the main base to be activated by Deebee and they’ve seismic charges on the field site. Should be enough to blow it all up.” He snorts. “I’ve done all of our jobs and this is the thanks I get. A disgusting thing eating my leg. I want a pay rise.” Maul’s arms tighten visibly around him but he doesn’t say anything. Rex doesn’t either. “Oh, I’ve other good news. Aodh Demesne is an impostor. According to his aunt, Aodh’s still seven and living on Coruscant. Whoever we dumped on Barriss is trouble we need to take care of.” He shivers. “Captain, could you pick up my medpack and shoot me with two of the blue stims? The ones with N07BC06 and N06BA03 written on them.”

Rex fetches the medpack automatically and takes two hypos; he has no idea what they are but, if Stat wants them, he won’t contradict him. Before he can inject the first one, the medic raises his hand. 

“Won’t be much help after that. There’s a high chance I won’t make it. I _know_ you won’t see reason so I’m not arguing t’ leave me here; I’m just telling it like it is,” he states. Maul starts protesting so he puts his hand over his mouth. “The password to the medbay is her full name and my designation. I’ve locked up Schutta in it. I think he’s seeing _him,_ ” he says, staring at the Jedi, whose jaw clenches. He continues, “Kesso’ll only divulge the information to a High Council member so you either fly back to the _Tranquility_ or comm Master Windu as soon as you’re able to. I couldn’t tell if any of the data was already transmitted to the Seps before everything went KUBAR so we ought to act like it was.” He sighs tightly. “Now, captain, hit me up, please, because I can’t feel the stims anymore. I’m in incredible amounts of pain and I’d rather not be. Take m’ shell; I don’t mind and it’d be stupid not to. And don’t believe him when he says he’s not cold. He’s from a swamp world; he’s going to get hypothermia quickly if he walks half naked like that for a while.”

Eyebrows rising, he glares at Maul accusatively. “His shell does not fit me,” the Jedi mutters, averting his gaze, before he can say anything. Stat snorts.

“Hit me up _now,_ captain.”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, hoping to see the medic smirk. He does. Rex glances at Maul, who nods mutely, and injects Stat with the two stims. In a couple of seconds, he’s out. He takes the helmet back, holsters the medic’s blaster, strapping the E-5 to his thigh and starts putting on the chestplate while Maul helps him carefully take the rest of the armor plates off Stat. When he’s as shelled up as possible, the sensation is weird. The armor is heavier than what he’s used to and the mag plates feel strange. Neither of them comments on the fact that he has only one leg armored up. “So, now what?” he asks the Jedi.

Maul looks up then around. “I can see the way out. Tell me—what does the painting look like for you?” He points with his chin to the water. Rex turns around and looks. 

“Humanoid, male, no hair, red eyes,” he states. The mural looks like he’s staring right at them. It’s… unsettling. “Aodh Demesne?”

“Not at all,” the Jedi replies. “I believe we see the same being; Aodh Demesne is a Mirialan.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Shock, maybe?” It wouldn’t be surprising. They’re all hallucinating already; maybe it was easier for Stat to see something else. The Jedi nods.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “I guess we’ll never be certain.” He looks back up. “If you carry Stat, I can help you both then join you up above.”

“Alright,” he says, carefully taking the medic from Maul. He looks extremely young like this and Rex never noticed the brother is always frowning but it’s unmistakable now. The Jedi softly brushes a strand of hair with a finger then steps back. He takes the rags left from his uppers and ties them around his waist, securing his lightsaber and the commlink. “Whenever you’re ready, sir,” Rex says.

The push feels like fresh air in his lungs; he doesn’t know what changed but the weightlessness makes his body relax. He watches the way out, finally seeing the stars and tightens his hold on Stat. When they’re out and his feet touch the ground, he sighs heavily. Exhaustion is starting to take its toll. He blinks, shaking his shoulders without disturbing the medic and waits for the Jedi to join them.

Maul jumps out of the hole and lands in front of him gracefully; with the light of the starry skies, he is striking. When he turns back, eyes focusing directly on Rex, and smiles, his heart decides to make a run for it.

“Let’s find Echo,” the Jedi says. It dawns on Rex that, right now, he’d follow Maul anywhere. It has to be the quiet confidence and certainty. He’ll admit he’s out of his depth here; he’s exhausted, confused and he just wants to find his men and get the kark out of this kriffing planet. Seeing Maul like this is everything a brother could wish for—there’s nothing more reassuring than knowing you have a reliable Jedi by your side. “Let me,” he mutters, raising his arms to take Stat and walking towards him. Rex hesitates.

“It’s probably best if your hands are free, sir,” he says, stopping him in his tracks. He doesn’t like being defenseless but, now that Maul can see, it’s clear he’s their best chance if they’re under attack. “I’ll carry him.”

The Jedi observes him for a long moment. “Very well,” he eventually says. He takes a look around, then points North. “He’s there.”

“Lead the way, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- tat: brother, sister, mate in the Concordian dialect  
> \- ni copaan dayn: lit. i want out  
> \- ne'johaa: shut up/stop talking/silence  
> \- ibic eyayah: it’s echo  
> \- me’vaar ti gar: are you alright  
> \- tion’vaii gar: where are you
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- me juuz ku, wermo: see you, suckers  
> \- dopo mee gusha, peedunkey: do you feel lucky, punk
> 
> I read somewhere that embo’s language in tcw is actually filoni reading smurfs books in French? I have no idea if it’s legit or not because i don’t understand a word he says (but then i’m not a native speaker; les francophones, est-ce que vous comprenez?)  
> in Dark Disciple tho my dude literally says “nesta nesta balotelli”,,,, dudes language is just italian soccer players. i love it and s2g in the first draft embo’s speech was entirely made up of real madrid players (it was fun to have him deadpan ‘Benzema. Isco isco ramos varane.’) buuuut i decided my guy deserved something cooler
> 
> ALSO [SUNJA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunja/pseuds/Sunja) MADE ART OF A SCENE FROM CHAP 9 IT’S PERFECT [LOOK AT IT](https://nevermindigotthis.tumblr.com/post/628705855441911808/another-piece-i-had-lying-around-also-belongs-to) AAAAAAA


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo 😳  
>   
> chapter 17 out of 20 and all the bois be doing is talking waah waah waah 🤏🏽 cmonnn enough talking we gotta go, bruh 😤 we gotta go. We can’t stay on this peepeepoopoo planet I have another arc planned my dudes!!  
> Anyway this is me saying i’ll bump the chapter count to 25 to be sure but I think we should be good with 23 chapters because the second arc is way shorter!

  
  
  
  


Climbing down the debris isn’t easy with Stat in his arms but he’s not sure if it’s safer to have him over his shoulders. Maul helps him when he can. The Jedi looks everywhere with a pensive look on his face but never says anything. Sometimes, a chunk of wall will be painted over; on some of them, there’s the female Humanoid’s face. Her eyes are always closed. Maul lets his fingers trail over each painting with something akin to sadness on his face. Sometimes, something will look like writing but Rex doesn’t know these symbols and the HUD doesn’t give him any information. 

He’s a bit envious; this HUD is way advanced compared to his own. Special ops don’t receive the same treatment from the GAR, obviously. He’s already seen these helmets on the field during joint missions but to wear one is an entirely different thing. He can hear vibrations all around him; fierfek, he can even hear Maul’s heartbeats if his eyes focus on his chest. He also discovered he can be bombarded with notes about his species if he looks too closely at him. This, he thinks it’s Stat’s own doing. He now knows that Maul has two hearts, each with a normal resting heart rate of 38 beats per minute (right now, he’s at 46), that his reg body temp is around 42.5 standard degrees (currently at 41.7), which is high compared to Rex’s 39, that he’s a facultative carnivore–whatever that means–and that, right now, his eyes indicate that he is far from his baseline. Which is all incredibly informative and very intrusive. He stops looking at the Jedi after discovering heat vision showed him he should be hotter in… some areas more than others. After that, he discovers that there’s nothing much around them, that the sky is very beautiful, and that looking at Stat means his HUD goes more or less on medical emergency mode.

It takes Rex some time but, after a couple of minutes, he _knows_ they’re being followed. He slows down his pace. The Jedi glances back at him silently. He tries to point to the direction of their tail discreetly.

Cody is there. He’s never less than fifty meters away from them. He’s not particularly trying to be inconspicuous. The moment he knows they’ve made him is easy to pinpoint—he just disappears. Rex’s HUD can’t sense him at all—no heat, no nothing, despite the fact that his armor was easy to spot. 

“Is he still here?” he asks. The Jedi shakes his head.

“I do not sense him anymore,” he mutters. “But we must remain careful.” He blinks. “Echo’s near.” He turns back then calls, “ _Eyayah_!”

Rex startles. “Sir,” he sneers. What if Echo’s not a friendly?

“Sir?” they hear from afar. “Where are you? _Tion’vaii gar_?” After a couple of seconds, they hear him approaching. When he sees them, he stops, blaster in hand. “Kark,” he exclaims. He aims at them. “What happened to Stat?” he growls.

“He was attacked by a blixus. I killed it,” Maul replies, voice void of emotion. “We wish you no harm. Lower your weapon, please.”

“When’s the last time you saw me?” Echo asks, blaster still pointing at them. Maul glances at Rex.

“Before Commander Mesh’la knocked you out,” he says.

“Before Schutta stunned me,” Maul replies at the same time. Rex looks at him sharply at that. When did _that_ happen? “Do you know where Doctor Demesne is?”

“Why did you attack Doctor Ulam?”

For a beat, they are both confused. “The Seppie?” Rex asks. “Near Human?” At Echo’s nod, his mouth stretches thin. He clenches his jaw then uses his CO voice. “We didn’t know he was a friendly. We’re not the enemy. Stand down, trooper.” Echo relaxes fractionally. Rex wishes he could take off his helmet but, as it is, his voice will have to do. “We just want to get Stat back to the ship, Echo. We don’t have much time.”

It takes a moment but, finally, the ARC stands down, putting his blaster back in his holster. He gestures at them to come closer. “I know where the ship is, sir,” he says, voice tight. Rex’s heart clenches. He knows that tone. It’s the one his ARCs use when they’re trying not to lose their shit in front of others. He’s certain they got it from him. He walks towards Echo slowly, Maul besides him. When they’re close enough, he sees the ARC’s hands twitching, fingers either silently reaching for him or trying not to. Rex nods and hopes it’s enough.

“Doctor, you can come out. I found them. Let’s meet up at the entry,” the ARC says, commlink activated. “How are you, sir?” he asks Maul.

“I’m fine,” he replies, which now Rex knows for a fact is a blatant lie. Whatever happened down there made him regain his sight but, if he’s to trust Stat’s HUD–and he does–then Maul is far from being fine. “When was the last time you saw us?”

“In the temple, before Stat and I got separated. What did he tell you about Doctor Demesne?” He starts walking away from the debris. They follow him without question.

“You formed some kind of alliance and have access to their base,” Maul says. “The men are awake.”

“We lost contact with the base an hour ago,” the ARC replies tightly. “Now that you’re with us, we need to get back. There’s a civilian there.” Maul nods silently. Rex has no idea what he is thinking. Echo continues, “There was a surge of light coming from below before that; I take it that was you?”

“It was the mural,” Rex says. “It’s, er—” He doesn’t really know how to explain what happened without sounding like a lunatic. ‘The female on the wall started shining when Maul touched her’ sounds weird. ‘She was moving and told Stat to wait for us’ even more.

“Let me guess,” Echo says wryly. “You had an encounter with the magic paintings.” Well. Said like that—it still sounds crazy but less so. “Was it the bald one?”

“The female, actually. From what Stat told us, I think we all see the same figure. Unless you were seeing her as well?” the Jedi asks, turning the comlink on and showing him the recorded hologram. Echo shakes his head. “Apparently, she told him we would be coming.”

The ARC falters. It’s extremely subtle; if Rex didn’t know him and Maul wasn’t a Jedi, they probably wouldn’t even notice. When he realizes he is going to stay silent, Rex prompts him. “Echo.”

“Could you hear her too?” the ARC asks. “Or was he the only one?”

“Why?” Rex’s eyes narrow. “What happened?” No answer. “Echo.”

The ARC relents. “Right before we found you, we had a run in with one of the murals. The female wasn’t there but he was drawn to the painting anyway.” The hand on his holster clenches. “It’s like he has a connection with her.” 

They hear the beeps before they see him. When Kesso appears in their line of sight, the droid flies right to them, chattering loudly. He circles Maul twice then hovers next to Rex’s head, its eye on Stat. “Yes,” the Jedi replies to whatever the droid said. Its beeps seem frantic. “Even if they do, we wouldn’t be able to move him, then. It has to be _our_ tank.” 

The Mirialan coming with him looks at them with a soft smile. She’s familiar but Rex isn’t sure _why._ The Near Human next to her is the one they knocked out cold. “Captain, Master Jedi,” she greets. Her eyes settle on Stat and widen. The two civilians gasp; she tries to close the distance between them until Maul steps in front of them. “What happened?” she asks, face twisted in horror.

Kesso beeps more forcefully and flies away, where there seems to be abandoned houses. Time to go, then.

“Blixus attack,” Maul says, following the droid, while still putting himself between Stat and the scientists. The woman–Demesne?–blinks.

“A blixus? Here?” She walks next to him and frowns. “Don’t they live in lagoons?”

“Usually. This one was much bigger than it ought to be.” He sighs, glancing back at Rex then at the medic. “We’re going to need bacta—enough to fill the tank. The base where my men are—how far is it from _Scimitar_? Should we fly there?”

“I thought the ship couldn’t fly.”

Maul doesn't reply; instead, he looks at the Near Human, who’s yet to talk. “Apologies, doctor. We didn’t know you were a friendly.”

The Near Human scoffs. “You stole my jacket,” he grumbles, glancing at Stat. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Echo flanks Rex on the right, sweeping the area. The medic starts twitching; Maul slows down until he’s standing on his left and runs a finger through his hair. He whispers reassuring nonsense while his eyes swipe over the horizon. From what Rex can gather himself, they’re in some kind of village—it’s clear it’s been abandoned a long time ago. The droid keeps beeping, the Near Human arguing with him about something Rex doesn’t entirely follow.

“I don’t like these houses,” Echo says under his breath. Rex agrees. They’re not big but they’re all half open and provide lots of cover. If they’re ambushed, it’s going to be a problem. When he glances around, his eyebrows raise when he sees the temple. It’s completely shattered but it’s not what impresses him—he didn’t realize how huge the thing was.

“I didn’t see this before,” Demesne comments, pointing at a house. There’s another karking mural there. More crude than the one in the temple. “What do you make of it, Master Jedi?” Maul hums, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes roam over the painted figures—the same Humanoids from the temple plus another one with a long beard. Three of them—the female is facing West, her hands on her heart, the bearded male is facing them, his hands on his eyes, and the bald one is facing East, hands clutching his head.

“I think I saw them before. Twice,” the Jedi mutters, head tilting. “When I was still a Padawan.” His hand traces the lines of the painting. Rex can see Echo stiffening besides him, taking a step forward.

“Where?” the Near Human asks with a frown. 

“On Lothal and Jedha,” he tells them. “The Guardians of the Whills believe them to be the three pillars. Knowledge.” His fingers go over the male clutching his head. His hand goes to the female and he says, “Self-Discipline,” then, settling on the one in the middle, “and the Force.” 

“So what you’re telling us,” the Near Human snarls, “is that our friends died because of Jedi magic tricks?”

For a long moment, Maul simply holds his stare. “No,” he says, eyes sliding back to the mural, fingertips tracing the tear tracks on the Humanoid’s face. “I believe your friends died because the sanctity of this place has been fouled.”

“Excuse me?”

“You built a war machine on a sacred ground, doctor,” he replies. “No one lives here. No one has for centuries. When we first arrived here, my connection to the Force was fragmentary at best. I don’t believe it is a coincidence.” He raises his head to stare at the stars. “Eredenn Prime has three moons, correct?” Echo is the only one to confirm. The Jedi hums, eyes still on the nightsky.

It should be funny, to realize that they all look up simultaneously, but Rex hears the tiny sound escaping from his ARC’s mouth and he tenses. He sees six moons—one more rising on the horizon. 

“How is that possible?” Demesne asks.

“What we see here is the temple above,” Maul says instead of replying, pointing at the debris. “But we were all led to the temple below.”

“There are two temples?” Maul nods in confirmation. Rex can't stop himself from sighing. Of course there are.

“Purification by suppression,” the Jedi mutters. “A vile practice that unfortunately many religions are guilty of—even mine.” He winds his arms more tightly together, suppressing a shiver. “I believe you disturbed their osmosis when you started testing your war machine. The temple below awoke.”

“That temple, sir,” Echo says with a grim tone. “Do you know what religion it was built for?”

The Jedi smiles wryly. “Not many religions would build a place calling lost souls only to torment them.” he huffs through his nose. “Even less would do as such on a Force nexus. There is a high chance you discovered an ancient Sith temple.”

“Why would people build a temple over Sith grounds?” Echo scoffs. “It’s insane.”

Maul chuckles warmly; Rex twitches at the sight of sharp teeth. “As an attempt to seal its dark powers within, perhaps. Sometimes, fervent beliefs can lead to insanity,” he says. “We need to get back to _Scimitar._ ” 

Rex isn’t going to protest; as soon as Maul starts walking, he follows him. Behind them, the Near Human scoffs.

“You act like you are better than us but _you_ are responsible for this war. Some of us haven’t forgotten that Dooku was a Jedi,” he accuses. “Your men are in _our_ base. You’re not in charge here.”

The Jedi halts. He looks at Rex for a moment then his eyes slide down to Stat. “Kesso will lead us to your base whether you accompany us or not,” he mutters. “You are not part of our mission.” He falls silent after that.

No one speaks. Maul’s eyes stay on Stat, the droid hovering next to his shoulder. Rex guesses Echo is looking right at him through his visor. He shrugs weakly, trying not to disturb the medic. They’ve heard worse from General Skywalker and these scientists created a machine to kill his brothers. They don’t owe them anything.

“You would leave us here?” Demesne asks, tone hushed. “We cannot survive on our own. We will die. Haven’t you sworn an oath to protect the defenceless, Master Jedi?”

“We are at war, doctor—and, as it is, we are on opposite sides,” he mutters. He shivers almost imperceptibly—unfortunately for him, the HUD alerts Rex right away. 38.9 degrees. His temperature is too low. They need to get back to the ship quickly. 

“Sir,” he calls. “We should go.”

Maul looks at Demesne then whispers, “I won’t leave you here.” 

He takes point. The others fall into step behind, with Echo flanking Rex. Kesso talks to the Jedi with beeps low enough to be understood only by him. The Jedi mutters words in a language Rex does not understand. < 1.2 km from BASE. > appears on his HUD—from Kesso, he guesses. 

The rest of the walk is made in silence. When they finally see the end of the village, he feels like he can breathe again. The more they advance, the more murals there are. Most of them depict the bald one. He’s always looking at them; considering the place, Rex isn’t even sure if he is _actually_ looking at them or not. He’d rather not find out. 

In front of him, Maul walks assuredly but the HUD keeps flashing every time he looks at the Jedi too closely. The shape of _Scimitar_ is instantly recognized by his helmet—the ship's locked. “When I lost Echo and Stat, I came back here but couldn’t go back inside,” Demesne informs them. < ACCESS DENIED > his HUD indicates while Kesso beeps. Eh. Of course he wouldn’t let Seppies inside on their own.

As soon as Maul is close enough, the ramp extends and the airlock opens. The Jedi turns around, takes Stat in his arms silently and goes inside without waiting. Rex follows him immediately. The emdee droid is waiting for them in the ready room; he gestures at Maul to the medbay. “Where is he?” the Jedi asks, laying Stat down.

“Sergeant Schutta was placed in Room 2,” is the reply. Rex takes a look around—one of the bunkrooms is closed. Must be Room 2. “I do not have the necessary equipment to perform—”

“Alleviate his pain as much as you can, Deebee. I will provide bacta for the tank.” With the harsh lighting of the medbay, it becomes painfully obvious how awful Maul looks. He has scratches and open cuts everywhere; his skin’s _at least_ one shade lighter and his arms are racked by small tremors. The Jedi clenches his fists, trying to quell them, and raises his chin, head dropping back, sparing him a glance. “You don’t look any better, captain,” he mutters wryly. 

Rex feels indignation rise within him; they hear the booted footsteps of Echo followed by the two scientists. Before he can say anything, Maul steps out of the medbay. “Lock down the ship,” he says. Kesso beeps; the airlock is shut off. Rex’s jaw clenches. If that _Jetii_ thinks he’ll get away this easily, he’s going to—

“Sir,” his ARC calls. “Your armor’s here.”

Fierfek—for a second, his knees turn into bacta. Rex didn’t want to think too much about it–it’s not the right moment–but for a while he really thought his armor had been lost to the temple. He goes to the open bunkroom and _there_ —his armor sits pristine on the lower bunk. Since Echo is still looking at him, he doesn’t rush but he can’t wait to get back into his own shell. His ARC is looking at him, though, and he’s already shaken so Rex takes his time, takes the helmet off and puts it on the rack, then the mag plates. Little by little, he takes the pieces of Stat’s armor off him, movements calm and collected. He takes a quick look at the blacks he’s wearing. They’re in bad shape—he doubts they’d be wearable after he takes them off. He stops wondering about them, puts on his shin guards, cuisses, chestplate and backplate, all the pieces coming together, then he ties his kama and takes his helmet in hand. He gives himself a second to look at it then puts it on. The HUD activates on its own and Rex lets out a relieved sigh. Suddenly he feels a bit more like himself—less like everything is going to shit and there’s nothing he can do. He clears his throat, nods silently to himself and looks around.

Echo is still staring at him, unmoving. Rex takes the steps separating them and rattles his own vambrace against his brother’s. He doesn’t say anything—what Echo wants to hear isn’t something Rex can promise. His ARC nods jerkily, gauntleted fingers brushing the handprint. Rex’s heart silently breaks at the gesture but he doesn't comment on it.

Doctor Demesne is sitting in the ready room. Waiting for them, it seems—she stands up as soon as she sees them. There’s no one else here—the second bunkroom is closed. So is the medbay. “They’re in the cockpit,” she informs them. She calls the lift. When they step inside, she does not try to make conversation. It’s just as well; Rex doesn’t really like talking to civilians and Echo rarely takes part in meaningless conversation if he has nothing relevant to add.

The lift opens to the sound of the engines rumbling. Maul is in the pilot seat. Doctor–kark, he can’t remember his name–the Near Human is standing right next to him, hand clutching the seat. 

Rex stomps over there and says, “I thought the ship wasn’t working.”

“Oh no, she was,” the Jedi replies. He doesn’t say anything else; fingers flying over the controls, he checks that everything is within parameters. Nothing is written in Aurebesh; Rex doesn’t understand any of these signs. Is it on purpose?

“What do you mean, sir?” he asks, since it seems Maul won’t say anything if not prompted. The Jedi’s eyes glow in his direction, a quick glance from which he can discern amusement.

“We thought the navigation system was malfunctioning but it wasn’t. Schutta turned it off, thinking it was a symptom of the problem, while it was the solution,” he explains, which, as far as explanations go, is very Jedi-like—cryptid and confusing. “Kesso, turn on the star chart.”

The droid does; behind them, the holopod bathes the cockpit in blue hues. 

“What do you see?” the Jedi asks. Echo takes off his helmet. Face set into a frown, he walks around the pod, eyes roaming over the hologram, probably connecting dots Rex can’t see yet. He’s a very good battle strategist but he’s never been well-versed in star charts; he’s got Echo for that. 

“This is where we are?” the ARC exclaims. At Maul’s hum of confirmation, he shakes his head. “That’s… impossible, sir. This isn’t the Tion Hegemony—it’s an entirely different sector.”

“Indeed,” the Jedi replies and the ship takes off smoothly. That ship is definitely _not_ part of the GAR; they don’t have the credits for engines like those, especially if the highest ranking aboard is a clone. “The moons above aren’t Eredenn Prime’s—you figured out as much.”

Rex glances at Echo, who’s staring right back at him. Maul activates the cloak and flies low, while Kesso beeps frantically. “You are not an astromech,” the Jedi says with a tired sigh. “Try to see if we can get access to the HoloNet. We need to transmit the data as soon as possible. Doctor Demesne, could you come here, please?” She nods and walks to him, standing besides the Near Human. Maul turns towards them, passes a hand in front of their faces and says, “You are tired and want to sleep.”

Rex stops himself from snorting. Echo’s eyes go wide. It’s not the first time they see this but his ARC never stopped being amazed by it. Not that Rex isn’t—he’s just better at hiding it.

“I _am_ tired,” the Near Human replies. Demesne nods in agreement. “I think I need to sleep. I’m going to the bunkroom.”

The Near Human leaves. Doctor Demesne stays. Maul looks at her and blinks. He raises his hand again and she shakes her head silently. He cocks his head and smiles.

“The man you saw,” she says. “The one who pretended to be my nephew. How could he know about all this? We’ve had no contact with the outside world since we started this project.”

“No contact at all?” he asks, eyes back on the viewport. Rex walks closer to them while Echo looks at the star charts.

“No,” she confirms. “Our station was built to be entirely self-sufficient. Less risks of having leaks in the HoloNet that way.” She crosses her arms over her stomach. “We tried to find a way but there were simply none.”

“Are you using a signal jammer?”

She shakes her head. “Not that I know of, no. Why?”

Kesso beeps. Maul worries at his lower lip; he nods then proceeds to land _Scimitar._ From what Rex can see from the viewport, they’ve just landed in the middle of nowhere. “We have a problem,” the Jedi says. “The base is supposed to be here. I’ve been flying around in a fifteen-kilometer radius.”

Rex clenches his jaw. “Doctor, can you try contacting the base again?”

She takes her commlink in hand and activates it. “Latinn? Can you hear me?” Silence. 

“There’s something on the radar, sirs,” Echo says to them from the holopod. “It’s right in front of us. 900 meters North.” He looks towards them. “Doctor? Maybe try to plug your comlink into the ship system; we’ll see if we can perhaps establish contact that way.”

Rex looks at the viewport, which is pointing North, and only sees salt. For kilometers and kilometers. There’s nothing in front of them. If he were a lesser man, he would already be yelling. Rex keeps staring at, er, _nothing_ and wonders what he did to the galaxy to deserve this.

Maul rises from the pilot seat to stand beside him, tilting his head slightly towards him. He looks at the controls and clears his throat. Rex already knows that he won’t like whatever the _Jetii_ is going to say.

“You know,” he starts, “We could check. Considering what we’ve been through… An invisible base doesn’t sound so far-fetched.” Maul’s eyes slide back towards him, from his kama to his pauldron then settle on his helmet, a bit higher than where his visor is. “What do you say, captain?” he asks, raising one shoulder. His eyes narrow for an instant and he smiles, slowly, somehow turning it feral without showing teeth. “Shall we see for ourselves?”

Rex freezes for a second, mind going blank. He blinks, utterly grateful for his helmet, because he can feel how hot his face is and he’s positive his neck grew two shades darker. And, of course, since he’s always been a lucky bastard, it’s not entirely covered by his blacks nor his chestplate. Thank the stars for his helmet. He bites his tongue, takes a deep breath without it being too obvious and closes his eyes for three seconds.

Why does Rex _always_ get the Jedi karked in the head?

Maul’s eyes slide to the ground and he lets out a small hum. “Schutta’s awake,” he says. He sighs softly, takes a step forward, closing the distance between them then whispers, “Come with me?” 

Thank the stars for his helmet.

Since Rex stays silent, he adds, “We can go together while Echo stays here with,” his eyes slide back to the holopod where Demesne is then to the lift. 

“The base,” he repeats. “Do you see a base, sir?”

“No,” the Jedi replies. “Do you?”

“No.” He lets out a tired sigh. “You’re going with or without me, aren’t you.” 

Maul winces. Rex decides he has the right to let out another tired sigh.

“If it _is_ here, our men are inside and there is bacta,” the Jedi says in a soft voice. “I have to go.”

“Alright,” Rex mutters, shifting. “Maybe you should… wear something else, sir.” Perhaps a shirt. Or a cloak. Armor would be preferable. A shirt would be helpful. “At least a shirt? Sir.”

“Oh.” He looks down at himself and Rex instinctively follows his gaze. Huh. He really has no hairs. Not even—“You’re right. I’ve been walking around half naked,” he says with a startled laugh. Rex would like to say he didn’t notice but that would be a karking lie. Maul cocks his head. “I think my armour is in the medbay.” It’s also still probably covered in his own blood. Seeing as he winces, he must remember it as well. “Are you ready, captain?” Rex nods silently. “Very well. Give me a minute.”

The Jedi turns off the engine and walks to the holopod while Rex calls the lift.

“The captain and I are going to check out if the base truly is there,” he says. Echo frowns and opens his mouth but stays silent when he sees Maul raise his hand. “Stat is injured and Schutta is compromised. You have to stay here and protect them.” He takes a step closer to him. “Please.”

Echo’s eyes dart to Rex and he can clearly see his ARC is far from being happy with this but knows it’s for the best. Rex nods minutely. Echo straightens, his posture nothing but professional then says, “Yes, sir,” voice unwavering. Alpha shaped him into an ARC through and through; if Echo doesn’t want his voice to waver then it never will.

He also very well knows that, if his voice _does_ waver, there's a high chance Rex will side with him or give him what he wants. It's an obvious flaw but Rex doesn't have the guts to change that. As it is, Echo doesn't use it except as a last resort in a karked up situation and Fives never achieved that particular waver—so they're good. 

“Thank you,” the Jedi says. His face turns to Demesne. “Anything else of interest inside the base? Weapons?”

“No,” she says. “No weapons.” 

Maul nods then joins him to the lift. Once the door closes, he says, “She lied.”

Rex hums in agreement. “Stat said they had seismic charges. Do you think—?”

“I’m not sure. Her mental shields are strong and she is not susceptible to mind tricks.” Once they get out, Maul takes uppers from the crate, puts them on, then says, “Can you warn Echo?”

Rex sends him a message with his commwrist: _Civilian Potentially Compromised. Stay alert._ He watches the Jedi disappear in the belly of the ship, going to the hold. When he comes back, he is wearing some kind of helmet and a cloak; vibroblades are strapped to his thighs, a holster with a DC-17 on his belt and he’s pushing a speeder bike. If Commander Tano and General Skywalker carried weapons like that as well, Rex is pretty sure his heart would be in better condition.

Maul opens the medbay and slips inside without a word. After half a minute, he comes back. He looks at Rex with a small smile and says something he doesn’t understand.

“My helmet can’t decrypt what you’re saying, sir.” 

The Jedi signs _Standby_ and keeps talking. Is that what he sounded like when he wore Stat’s helmet?

“Just keep your eye on her,” Maul says. “Can you understand me now, captain?” Huh. He can hear him directly in his helmet. He nods. “Very well.”

They step in front of the airlock and Maul takes the speeder out as soon as the ramp is down. He looks back at Rex and gestures to the speeder. “Hop in,” the Jedi says. Rex bites his lip and nods silently. That speeder is made to only carry one person. Rex pushes his back to the seat as much as he can and grips the sides, knuckles probably going white.

“Sorry for the lack of comfort but Bloodfin is our fastest speeder and Schutta added repeating blasters to it,” the Jedi explains. Rex nods mutely. “I’m going to have to sit on your lap, I’m afraid.”

Thank the stars for his helmet. And armor. And Alpha’s training. “That’s alright, sir,” he says, voice calm and collected. He raises his mental shields as much as possible and controls his breathing. He’d prefer that Maul never notices his internal screaming.

The Jedi sits on his thighs and his back presses against Rex’s chestplate. It’s a tight fit but it’s doable. When he twitches to sit more comfortably, Rex’s helmet thunks against the back and he looks at the sky above. Five moons, most of them disappearing on the horizon. Maul starts the speeder and they proceed towards the base.

Now that he’s outside, Rex notices the mountains on the horizon. Apart from that, there’s nothing and everything is flat. He should be able to see the temple. He doesn’t. His knuckles grip the speeder more tightly and he looks down. Maul’s lightsaber hilt is much longer than the ones he’s used to seeing.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?” he blurts out. 

“Of course.”

“Why are your blades yellow?” he asks. “I only saw them in blue, green or purple.” In red as well. “Commander Tano has a green one that verges on yellow but I never saw pure yellow blades before.”

He can hear him chuckle softly. It’s a bit weird coming straight from his internal comm; it sounds like he’s right besides his ear. He's used to it with his brothers but it's not the same. “I added two krayt dragon pearl fragments to my crystals,” the Jedi explains. “Hence the unusual colour. My crystals come from Jedha; I never partook in the Gathering.”

“The Gathering?”

“It’s a rite of passage for Jedi younglings; we usually build our first lightsaber after this,” he tells him. He clears his throat. “My apprenticeship was… _different_ compared to most of my peers. I haven’t been to Coruscant since I became a Padawan.”

Rex raises his eyebrows. So General Skywalker was right, in a sense—Maul hasn’t been in the Temple since he joined the Order.

“I didn’t know you could use something other than kybers,” Rex admits. Maul hums.

“Master Windu uses Hurrikaine crystals. Actually, I think there are only two Jedi alive who use them,” he mutters.

“Who’s the other one?”

Maul stays silent for a moment. “The Dark Woman,” he says. Rex blinks. That’s a strange name. “My master was her Padawan.” The speeder slows down. “Do you see it?” Maul asks. Rex turns his head and—

“Yeah,” he says, voice tight. “I see it.” There’s a big fabric building in front of them. There’s no way they could have missed it earlier. The Jedi takes scopes out of his cloak and looks to the horizon. He hums.

“There’s a crater over there,” he says then hands him the scopes. Rex takes them with a soft _thanks_ and zooms in.

“You think that was caused by the explosion? Sir,” he adds with a grimace.

“Technically, you don’t have to call me sir, captain,” the Jedi says. “I’m not your superior officer.” He advances towards the building at low speed.

“Then what should I call you then?”

“Whatever you want.”

Ah, that’s—that’s—

Rex looks at the sky and swallows hard, trying to control his breathing. Maul is being polite. He’s being _nice._ Rex just needs to be a karking professional.

“Can I call you Senator Amidala?” he blurts out. What. What is wrong with him?

The Jedi stays silent for a long moment then bursts out laughing; Rex can _feel_ him move, his torso shaking with it. He glares at the stars.

“I’m sorry,” Maul says once he gets control of his laughter. “I… only heard good things about her. I guess I wouldn’t mind.”

Rex sighs heavily. “Can we forget I said anything?” he asks. The Jedi stays silent. “Sir?”

Maul stops the speeder and hops off, taking his helmet off in the process. He looks back at Rex and a lazy smirk graces his face.

“Don’t you mean ‘Senator Amidala’?”

He glares at the _Jetii,_ knowing full well his entire body language will show what his helmet cannot. Maul grins at him with all his teeth. Rex feels suddenly immensely grateful for General Skywalker. Even _he_ isn’t such a karking shithead. He can’t even imagine how catastrophic every mission would be if they had to work with him _and_ Fives.

“Yeah, well,” he says dryly. “How should we proceed, Senator Amidala?”

Maul hums, cocking his head, but stays silent. Rex snorts. He gets off the speeder, hands brushing at his kama distractedly. Maul’s eyes follow the gesture. After a couple of blinks, the Jedi puts his helmet abruptly back on. Why did he take it off in the first place if he’s going to wear it?

“Only one way to find out,” Maul says then calmly walks to the base.

“Sir, where are you— _sir,_ ” Rex sneers while the Jedi tries to open the door. It does not budge. He pushes on it. “Senator!”

“Senator _Amidala,_ please.” Senator Ami—Rex is going to karking kill him if he doesn’t get killed on his own. Maul takes a step back. “I can sense Mesh’la and Dogma nearby,” he says. He raises his hand and pries open the door with the Force. There doesn’t seem to be any power. Rex takes out his Deeces and steps behind him while Maul goes in.

It’s pitch black inside; Rex has to turn on night vision. From what he can see, the power seems to have been cut off. Contrary to General Skywalker and Commander Tano, Maul doesn’t ignite his saber to use as a glowrod. How well can he actually see in the dark? Is his vision better with or without the helmet?

Rex sees something at the corner of his eye; before he can react, Maul’s saber thrums right next to him, deflecting a blaster shot. For a second, his whole body tenses at the sound, his fight or flight response triggered, and he has to blink a couple of times not to lose focus. He takes a deep breath and sees the Jedi’s back in front of his visor, shielding him; with a sweep of his hand, he pulls a crate towards them to use as cover. Rex raises his head and looks over Maul’s shoulder. Whoever shot at them took cover behind the remaining crates.

“ _Alor’ad_? _Me’bana_?”

Sithspit. Of course the Jedi felt his panic. “ _Naas,_ ” he replies through gritted teeth. “ _Tion’ad_?”

“ _Na ni haa’tay,_ ” Maul says and Rex frowns minutely at his sentence. “ _Ne neyar jage._ ”

They hear someone shift behind the crates. “Come closer and I’ll shoot!” It’s not a brother’s voice. Maul takes off his helmet, and his glowing eyes settle on Rex for an instant.

“Doctor Demesne sent us,” he says loudly.

“Are you the Jedi?” the man shouts. “Where’s Reeva?”

“She’s on _Scimitar,_ ” he tells him. “The ship works; we have a way out of the planet.”

“You’re too late,” the man says. “They already left. They took the charges!”

Maul makes a gesture at him to lower his blasters but he does not deactivate his lightsaber. Rex nods, keeping his Deeces in hands but aiming them at the ground. “Doctor, we wish you no harm. Please lower your weapon,” the Jedi says.

After a moment spent in silence, the man says, “Alright.” They hear a blaster sliding on the ground towards them. Footsteps come closer. “Don’t blast me.”

The Jedi rises, almost getting Rex a heart attack, and says, “We won’t. It’s alright, captain.”

He stands back up. The Chagrian is taller than he is but he doesn’t have a strong build. He shouldn’t be too difficult to restrain if needed.

“I am Maul,” the Jedi says then with a gesture of his hand, “This is Captain Rex.”

“Latinn,” the Chagrian replies with a nod. His lethorns are tattooed. He seems wary of them.

“What happened, doctor?”

“I am not sure,” he admits, then sighs. “I was actually trying to contact Ulam when the power went out. I heard noises coming from the medbay so I went to check.” He turns his head to show them a bruise on the side of his tentacle. “They hit me hard because I lost consciousness instantly. When I came back to myself, I was alone here and the seismic charges and the speeders had disappeared.”

“When did you wake up exactly?” Rex asks. The doctor frowns.

“Half a standard hour perhaps,” he replies. “If you are asking to wager where they went, I can already give you the answer. If they act like the last people infected before them did, then they are heading to the test site.” His tongue flickers. “We must go to your ship, Master Jedi; they are already dead.”

Maul’s eyes glance to Rex. He folds his hands into his sleeves, then hands the Chagrian a commlink. “Is there a speeder left?”

“Yes,” he replies skeptically. 

“Do you know how to fly a ship?”

“You’re not considering going after them, are you? It’s suicide.” When he receives no answer, he sighs. “I can manage, depending how big it is.”

The Jedi smiles. “The Captain will drive you back to _Scimitar_.”

Rex stiffens, eyebrows raising. “Sir,” he begins. “With all due respect, I don’t think you should go on your own.” He steps closer and takes his helmet off. “You are not one hundred percent right now. Let me come with you,” he coaxes. “My men are there too.”

For a long moment, Maul simply stares at him, glowing golden eyes roaming over his face. His mouth twitches and he says softly, “Very well, captain.”

Rex nods jerkily and swallows the knot in his throat, activating his commwrist. “Echo,” he calls. “We found Doctor Latinn. We gave him Maul’s commlink; give him directions to get to the ship.”

“Yes, sir,” his ARC replies. Maul’s commlink beeps. “Doctor Latinn? Are you alright?”

“I am,” the Chagrian replies, nodding at them. He deactivates his end. “I hope they are alright,” he tells them. “I’ll see you on the ship. Thank you.” He bows quickly then heads further inside the base. 

Once he’s out of sight, the Jedi taps on Rex’s wrist. “Echo,” he says. “If we’re not back in two standard hours, do not wait for us.”

“Sir?” is the startled reply. Maul’s finger lifts from his wrist.

“Are you certain, captain?” he asks. “You can still go with Latinn.”

Rex puts his helmet back on and nods. “I’m staying, sir.”

The Jedi stares at his helmet, a bit higher than his visor. His hand curls around Rex’s wrist and he pushes on the commlink’s button to open their end. “If we do not come back, Doctor Latinn will fly the ship,” he tells Echo. “Transmit Kesso’s data to the Jedi High Council as soon as possible.” His jaw clenches. “The data is the priority.”

It takes a couple of seconds but, eventually, they hear, “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Echo,” Rex says then cuts off their end. 

Maul puts his helmet back on, heading to the exit. “Do you want to drive?” he asks.

Rex imagines having to sit on the Jedi’s lap and concludes he’d rather not.

“Perhaps you should, sir,” he says. “Never drove a speeder like yours before.”

Maul chuckles.

The drive to the crater is spent in silence. The speeders are easy to spot; they’re all parked together. The charges are right next to them. Maul stops before they’re too close. He takes off his helmet, leaves it on the seat once Rex climbs off it, and takes his lightsaber in hand, igniting one blade. The Jedi signs for him to stay close. When Rex takes a look around, the men are nowhere to be seen and all the equipment around them seems to have been half destroyed by a deflagration coming from the crater. All electronics look fried. 

“Must’ve been the EMP,” he mutters. Raising his head, he asks, “Can you sense them, s—”

Where is he? Rex looks around him. Where’s Maul? “Sir?” Where the kark is he? “Maul?”

His eyes swipe over the land. He… has no idea where he is. There’s no crater anymore; all the abandoned equipment’s gone. When he looks up, the moons are all gone. The sky’s turned purple and pink. He clenches his jaw. His heart is pacing fast against his chestplate. Where is Maul?

“You will not find him here,” someone says. Rex turns back, blasters aiming at the hooded figure sitting on the ground in front of him. They have two lightsabers, set in front of them in the same way Commander Tano does when she meditates.

“Who are you?” he asks, planting his feet in the sand, body tense and ready to fight. For a long moment, the figure stays silent. He doesn’t budge. “Who are you?” he repeats. “Where’s Maul?”

“Do you know where you are, Captain Rex?” They rise—the hood covers their face. They extend their hands; the lightsabers fly into their palms.

On the horizon, the sun rises. The red sand is slowly bathed in yellow hues, the sky a reflection of the ground—blood red, without any life. The mountains appear larger, sumptuous against the flat earth. This isn’t Eredenn Prime.

“My people used to call this planet Korriban,” the hooded figure says. “It has no name now because there is no one left to remember it exists.” They approach slowly. With the new light, Rex can see their mask—an ancient Mandalorian helmet, the beskar covered by red and grey paint. “You and I are not so different,” the Mandalorian says. “My kind was cast aside, abandoned and buried underneath the earth like filth waiting to rot. Once we had power—now we are nothing.”

“Who are you?” Rex says through gritted teeth. Despite the fact that he’s aiming both of his blasters at them, the Mandalorian keeps advancing on him.

“I’ve had many titles,” they whisper. Rex can hear them speaking in his ears. “I forgot my name a long time ago.” The more they advance, the more Rex feels his muscles tighten, an instinctive urge at the back of his mind begging him to _run._ “Tell me, captain. Do you think the galaxy cares about your brothers? Do you think you will be remembered?”

When the figure ignites their lightsabers, Rex sees purple and red and freezes. He closes his eyes, knowing he’s dead the moment the blades strike him.

Silence. Then, a low, persistent hum. Rex opens his eyes. He’s in a Destroyer. He’s on the bridge, standing in front of a holotable, maps displayed at his fingertips. He blinks. General Skywalker stands on his right; he’s talking with General Kenobi in hushed tones. He has the beginning of a smile on his face while his former master is slightly frowning. Whatever plan he is proposing will give Rex a karking headache—he already knows. On his left, Cody is speaking with Commander Tano. She has her serious frown on, arms crossed over her chest. It’s always a bit amusing to see how she acts whenever Cody is in the vicinity—professional, battle hardened and not one to kriff around.

Rex looks at them with a small smile hidden by the privacy of his helmet. Suddenly, he sees his brother shift. Cody excuses himself and rattles his fingers on Rex’s vambrace, asking him to talk in private. He nods, confused, and follows him to one corner of the bridge.

“We have an incoming transmission from Coruscant. It’s on the command channel,” Cody tells him. “It’s only for clone commanders.”

Rex frowns, confused, but still says, “Alright. Put them through.”

Cody places a holocom on his palm, raising it between them. The hologram of the Chancellor appears.

Rex sees the words but doesn’t hear them. As soon as they leave the Chancellor’s mouth, his mind becomes clear. There’s no hum, no doubt, no fear, nothing—just the rewarding knowledge that his life is only governed by duty.

He doesn’t wait for the Commander to relay the words; he takes his blasters in hand and shoots the closest traitor down in one swift motion. She falls before she can even react. Flooded by the satisfaction of fulfilled purpose, he turns his blasters on the remaining traitors, already cowardly trying to escape their fates, and shoots to kill.

Pleasure courses through his veins. His reward for obedience is a sense of accomplishment. It’s just as well; 7567 has no other needs.

Rex gasps and drops on his knees. He takes his head between his hands and shouts.

He feels hands closing around his own, slowly pushing them away. He lets them take his helmet off, fingers softly wiping the tears off his cheek.

“They enslaved you and your brothers,” the Mandalorian whispers. Rex grits his teeth, unable to stop the tears, body shaking uncontrollably. “Let me help you break your chains.”

“I don’t understand,” he gasps. The Mandalorian puts their hand under his chin, tilting his face up so he stares at the mask.

“We were asleep but now we are awake,” they whisper. “I can help you prevent this from happening, captain. I will free you and your brothers; I will bring peace. Do you not want peace?”

“I—”

“Let us regain the freedom you lost,” they say, the bottom of their helmet touching his forehead. Their hand settles on the back of his head. “Let us take back what they stole from you.”

Rex closes his eyes. The image of him killing Ahsoka is imprinted behind his eyelids. He sobs. “How,” he gasps. He falls into their embrace without protest.

“The girl was not strong enough for us but he is. This one has ichor in his blood and a mirror in the Force,” they say. “He will be our guide.” Their arms tighten around him. “I have not lied to you. I have not tried to deceive you. I did not take the faces of your brothers to talk to you.” They scoff. “From the moment you came to us, they tried to lure you away, usurping your brothers’ identities to lull you in a false sense of comfort.”

“Who are they?” he asks, voice rasping, the image of Anakin dying under blaster fire still vivid.

“The ones who enslaved my people,” they say. “The ones who buried us underneath the earth to be discarded and forgotten. As time passes, their power vanishes and ours grows. Soon, they will be ashes.” Their hands slide to his shoulders. “Rise with me, captain.”

And Rex does. “What do I need to do?” he asks.

“You must stop your brothers,” they tell him. “They do not know what they are doing—they are being deceived by misguiding spirits. Stop them then bring him to us.”

“Him?”

They take his face in their hands and their thumbs brush his lips, as if drawing a smile. “Bring us the Jedi, captain.”

Rex stills. He takes a careful step back. “Who are you?” he asks again. He looks at the lightsaber hilts. He now knows that one of them contains a red blade. “You’re not Mandalorian.”

The figure touches their mask softly. “No,” they say. “I took this as a symbol of what we would achieve. I took it to reclaim what was taken from us.” They clench their hand into a fist. “It was my pledge to bring back peace to the galaxy.” They take a step forward. “And I did.”

Rex takes his blasters and aims at the figure, taking a step back. “You’re a Sith,” he snarls.

“I am your ally,” they say, throwing his blasters away with a simple swipe of their hand. “I can bring peace to the galaxy; I can break your chains, captain. We needn’t be enemies.”

“No,” he spits. “I will never work with you.” He blinks and sees Ahsoka again. “Get out of my head!”

They still. Rex can feel the air change around them, the silence becoming oppressive. He swallows and takes a step back. 

They raise their fist and with it Rex then closes the distance between them; two fingers settle under his chin, a scorching brand that chills him to the core. “You should have listened to your brother, captain,” they whisper. “You should have killed the Jedi while you still could.”

Rex struggles against an invisible force choking him. He has memories of Ventress and he wants to scream. _I won’t help you,_ he wants to shout.

“Oh, I do not _need_ your help, my dear captain. I simply wanted it,” they say with a laugh. “It does not matter. I will get what I want and you will be my witness.”

“No, he won’t,” someone says behind him. “He’s coming with me.”

Rex feels a hand clutching his arm and suddenly he is thrown back. He lands on the ground; it’s night again. He looks around—the crater is here. Above him, Cody is looking at him with a frown on his face.

“Sorry about that,” his brother says. “I couldn’t reach you before.”

“What the kark was that?” Rex blurts out. “What the kark happened?”

Cody extends his hand; he takes it and gets pulled up. “That was the unpleasant neighbor downstairs. The one the karking shitheads woke up when they decided to use their toys around here.” He sighs heavily. “Alright, change of plans. Let’s go with Fordo’s. Mine sucked anyway; you didn’t even _try_ to listen to me.”

“Explain to me what is going on _right now,_ ” he growls. Cody flinches back a bit and raises his hands.

“From the beginning?” Rex nods. “Long story short—these idiots came in and blew the place up so we tried to make them go away but it didn’t work. Then you imbeciles crashed here and we found you. Since we can’t really do stuff to prevent the neighbor from stirring shit up—well, we tried to make you do it.”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs. He doesn't find any of this funny. “Instead of driving us all _mad,_ you couldn’t have just said ‘the Sith are trying to take over the planet; can you stop them’?”

Cody shrugs. Behind him, Captain Fordo comes into view. “It’s what I did,” the latter says, his helmet turning to Cody. “And it worked.”

“Yeah well. I thought killing Maul would be better.”

Fordo doesn’t reply. His helmet turns to Rex and he says, “You see me?”

Still a bit reeling from, hmm, _everything,_ it takes him a couple of seconds to answer. “Yes, sir,” he says then grimaces. They’re the same rank, for kark’s sake. _It’s not even Captain Fordo, for kark’s sake._

He receives a silent nod. “The Jedi?” the captain asks, helmet turning to Cody.

“Couldn’t reach him,” his brother says, crossing his arms over his chestplate. “He’s still there.”

“There?” Rex exclaims, body going rigid. “You mean he’s with the _Sith_?”

_Against the chrono,_ Fordo signs then gestures at them to follow him. Rex doesn’t budge. “No,” he says sharply. The other two turn back to him. “I’m sick of this shit,” he spits vehemently. “You tell me what the kark is going on _right now_.”

The captain stomps over to him, takes him by his shoulder guard, hurling him towards him until their chestplates clank. 

“You want to get out of this planet with your Jedi alive?” he asks in a murmur. Rex clenches his jaw but doesn’t push him away. “Then you do as I say. Now _move._ ” He releases him and leaves without waiting.

“No,” he snarls. Captain Fordo stops walking but doesn’t turn back, sighing heavily.

“Trooper,” he calls. “Stun him.”

It’s too late when Rex turns around; he’s already falling on the ground. He struggles but his body gives up—the last thing he sees is Tup looking at him with a worried look.

He loses track of time.

He’s being transported somewhere. He tries to keep his eyes open but it’s near impossible.

“Put him under again,” he hears a brother say. He knows that voice—he just needs to remember from where—

He’s lying down; there’s something hard poking at his head. He opens one eye and stiffens. Maul’s lying next to him, unconscious. One of his horns keeps nudging him with the motions of the landspeeder.

“Sorry, cap,” he hears Jesse whisper before something stings his neck and he loses consciousness once again.

This time, when he wakes up, Rex doesn’t move. He listens to what is going on around him.

“Fives, what’s your status?” he hears a brother say. Mesh’la, he thinks.

“ _All armed and ready to detonate_.”

“Dogma?”

“ _All clear. Please advise_.”

“Are we ready, baby?”

“Hm.” Odd voice. Fordo.

“How would we know if it worked?” Mesh’la asks.

“I won’t be here anymore. The others as well.”

“Wait. Hevy too?” Rex tenses. The brother he heard—that was Hevy. “Ah, poodoo. The kid’s not going to like that.”

“He won’t remember.”

‘What do you mean?” Silence. “Ford’ika, what do you mean?”

“Give the order,” is the reply.

“Alright,” Mesh’la says with a sigh. “I’m going to miss you, you know.”

There’s a long silence. Rex thought there would be nothing else said until he hears, “Why don’t you talk to me anymore? You were never much of a talker but at least you talked. What happened, baby?”

No response. Mesh’la sighs again.

“Men, you are cleared to proceed and RTB,” he says. “ET two merns.”

Rex opens his eyes at the sound of bombs going off from afar. He’s up and alert in a couple of seconds.

Mesh’la is standing right next to him. He’s alone. For a moment, the multiple detonations light up the earth—for the first time, they see Eredenn Prime in daylight. The ground shakes. Rex can’t see mountains on the horizon. There’s only salt, kilometers and kilometers of salt. There’s a speeder heading straight to them. The brother on it has a blue kama. He stops right next to them and goes directly to him.

“Captain,” Fives says, and Rex can hear how frantic he is. Mesh’la probably can’t—for all his hotheadness, Fives is still an ARC through and through. He shifts, slightly and almost imperceptibly, but doesn’t say anything.

Rex nods faintly. He’s certain he doesn’t imagine how the ARC’s shoulders relax minutely. He looks around. Maul is still unconscious on the backseat. He moves slightly to face Mesh’la—if he happens to graze his ARC’s vambrace in the process, no one comments on it, but he still notices how Fives leans slightly closer to him. “Commander,” he starts, “We need to get bacta from the remaining base to r—”

“I know, captain,” the Alpha-class says, cutting him off. He’s still staring at the horizon. “Cody told us about Stat.” He brushes dust off his kama. “Jesse and Tup are transporting the bacta to the ship as we speak.” He turns back to them. “You know, I imagined Kote differently.”

“He is,” Rex replies. It’s a glaring evidence of how unbalanced he’s been since they arrived on this karking planet; he should’ve noticed earlier. Cody’s never been this brazen. He can be a shithead, but still. “He’s quieter,” he settles on.

The Commander nods but says nothing. He goes to the speeder and leans over, hand hovering over Maul’s arm, then he puts his fingers softly on him. “ _Alor,_ ” he calls, voice strong.

Maul’s eyes open and settle on Mesh’la’s visor immediately. In the blink of an eye, he’s up and standing in front of the commander protectively, both of his blades ignited, frantically looking around them.

“Captain,” he says, eyes widening. “I saw you with—”

“They’re gone,” the Commander cuts him off, his hand curling around Maul’s wrist, slowly trying to lower down his lightsaber. “We need to go back to the ship and get the kark off this rock.”

It takes a couple of seconds but, eventually, the Jedi blinks then deactivates his blades. He looks back at Mesh’la with wide eyes but stays silent. After a while, he smiles. The Commander shakes his head then quickly taps his helmet with the Jedi’s horns. Rex’s eyebrows raise at that.

“Let’s go,” the Commander says, jumping inside the landspeeder, on the passenger seat.

“You don’t drive?” Maul asks.

“No, you do.”

Well, then. Rex climbs on the back seat with Fives. They can all see _Scimitar_ from afar—it would take time on foot but, as it is, the drive isn’t going to be long.

Other landspeeders are parked near the ship when they arrive. Dogma and Tup are hurling mag crates inside and the Near Human is helping them out. Demesne and Latinn are talking with Echo who is leaning against the furthest landspeeder from the ship.

As soon as Maul stops, Fives gets out and walks towards the other ARC. He’s not very obvious; his pace is more than normal and, when he reaches them, he only nods but Rex can practically _feel_ their grins. 

Mesh’la gets out right after and says, “We need to fill the tank. What’s the password?”

“StaatiWhaea273555,” Maul says straight away. The Commander nods.

“I’m going to re-check but the _Tranquility_ seems to be the closest Destroyer; it should take us a single jump,” he tells them.

The Jedi makes a face and nods mutely while Mesh'la goes to _Scimitar._

Rex watches his ARCs. They’re battered but they seem alright. He needs to check with the rest of his men.

“Something is wrong,” Maul whispers next to him. Rex tenses immediately. The Jedi goes where the ARCs and the scientists are without another word.

Sithspit. Rex follows him.

“Doctor Demesne,” the Jedi calls. The Mirialan blinks at him; the smile she gives him does not reach her eyes. “You seem… tense.”

She chuckles. Behind her, Latinn stiffens. “Can you blame me, Master Jedi? After what we’ve been through.”

Maul takes a sudden step forward. Both scientists step back abruptly. In less than a second, everyone present is on high alert. “Reeva,” the Jedi whispers. “What’s in your hand?”

Demesne’s smile freezes. “I _am_ sorry,” she says, slowly raising her hand, showing them what she is holding.

It’s a small vial, the size of her palm—inside there is a single, tiny star, shining a bright blue.

“I work in energy enhancement, not weapons manufacturing,” she says. “Do you know what this is, Master Jedi?”

Latinn raises his blasters at them; the ARCs react immediately but Maul signs _Halt_ at them and says sharply, “ _Don’t._ ”

“I must assume you do,” Demesne says. “Please believe me when I tell you I am sorry.”

“Reeva,” the Jedi says, taking a step forward. He stills when he sees her tense, hand raising higher. Rex tries not to make himself noticed; he puts his fingers on his holsters silently. “Reeva, put the coaxium down.”

Coaxium—as soon as it leaves the Jedi’s mouth, Rex and his men freeze. Coaxium—that’s hypermatter, what they use to travel through hyperspace. It’s also one of the most extremely volatile substances in the galaxy. If she lets it drop on the ground, they’re all dead—there won’t be anything left on a fifteen-kilometer radius.

“A poor choice of words, don’t you think?” she says. “I have no choice.”

“ _We_ have no choice,” Latinn corrects. His blasters are pointed at the ARCs until he moves one to aim at Rex. “Don’t even think about it, captain. Hands up. Now.”

“Doctor,” Echo calls, his voice full of betrayal. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s been five years since I last saw happiness in the galaxy,” Demesne says, the coaxium steady in her hand. She takes her blaster in the other and aims it at Maul. “The war started two years ago but has been brewing for a while.”

“What happened five years ago?” the Jedi asks, eyes on her. It’s a poor distraction but she is already on edge. If they so much as spook her, she’ll either shoot or drop the vial.

“My friends got married,” she replies, voice wavering. “And they just had a little girl.”

Maul nods slowly. “What is her name?”

“Jyn,” she declares. “I never met her.”

“You still can,” he promises. Demesne shakes her head and laughs wetly.

“They live on Vallt. The government shifted to the Separatist cause,” she says. “Don’t you see? The Republic is flawed. Vallt has been discarded for generations, unrepresented and forgotten like many worlds because the Core does not care about them.” She shakes her head and grimaces. “I cannot let you give them my weapon. They will use it against worlds like Vallt, killing people for daring to say the truth. The Republic has been corrupted by a decadent system that favours the rich over the masses.” 

“Reeva—”

“No,” she cuts him off softly. “You weren’t supposed to come here. Why did you come here?” She takes a deep breath. “Ulam did not understand but we did; what happened here is the will of the Force. What we created cannot leave this planet. _We_ cannot leave this planet.” She sets her blaster on kill. “If you give us Ulam and the data you stole, we will let you leave.”

“I cannot do that,” Maul says softly.

“Think about your men, Master Jedi. Think about Stat. He does not deserve to die—none of them do.” She takes a calming breath. “It doesn't matter whether it is the Republic or the Separatists; I refuse to be the reason why countless people will die meaninglessly because you will see them as mere casualties. The Pershing cannot be built. Give us Ulam and the data, Master Jedi. Let your men and thousands live.”

“Reeva, it doesn't have to be this way,” Maul tries to soothe. “We cou—”

“Stand back!” Latinn shouts. Fives growls but stops moving. Demesne’s aim on Maul is steady. “I said stand back!” he yells then, in an unexpected move, he turns his blaster on Echo and shoots.

Everything after that happens fast.

Fives shouts, jumping to the stunned ARC to soften his fall while Rex stuns Latinn. He points his blaster to Demesne and freezes. Her hand is on her mouth, her blaster dropped; the coaxium is hovering over the ground. She’s staring right in front of her. Rex turns his visor and he wants to howl.

Maul is looking down on his stomach, a hand touching it gingerly while the other is extended in front of him. He raises the one on his stomach to his face, fingers shaking. It’s covered in blood. He drops down on his knees and the coaxium flies into his palm. Rex goes to him without thinking; the Jedi coughs and blood seeps from his mouth, covering his lips. She blasted him straight to the guts.

“Sir, _sir,_ look at me,” Rex says, taking him into his arms, and Maul falls down, eyes blinking quickly, chest convulsing. He changes his position when he sees the Jedi is choking on his own blood. “Look at me!” Rex shouts, throwing his helmet off his head and hooking his hand to his horns so the Jedi faces him. Maul’s eyes settle on his own.

“ _Alor’ad,_ ” he says, gives him a bloodied smile, eyes crinkling. Rex’s free hand hovers over his stomach and he realizes that he has no idea what to do; he doesn’t know if he should try to stop the blood or if he shouldn’t touch and there’s so much blood, so much—

“ _Alor’ad,_ ” Maul whispers again and Rex’s eyes slide to his face and he swallows down any sound trying to come out of his mouth. “ _J_ _ate,_ ” he tells him with a small nod. Rex chokes down a sob. 

Maul grins, eyes closing. Rex shakes his head. “Look at me, sir. Stay with me.” Maul blinks, pupils glazing over until they settle back on him.

“Has anyone ever told you,” the Jedi starts, eyes roaming over his face, “How beautiful your mind is?”

A startled laugh comes out of Rex’s mouth and he shakes his head. “Can’t say anyone ever did, sir,” he says with a wavering smile. Maul blinks at him slowly.

“Really?” he asks like he can’t believe it. Rex shakes his head. “Do you think Knight Skywalker will be mad?”

He blinks. “What?” Maul looks away, eyes closing. “Hey, _hey—_ Stay with me,” he snaps, with a slight shake. “Why would the General be mad?”

“I’d like to steal you,” he says with a smile. “Can I?” More blood slips from his lips. He raises his free hand; his fingers brush against Rex’s cheek. “ _Ner alor’ad,_ ” he whispers.

Rex chuckles wetly. “I think you’ll have to take the entire company with you,” he says. The Jedi grins.

“Don’t tempt me.” He closes his eyes. “Mesh’la,” he calls, voice only a murmur. Rex looks up. The Alpha-class is running towards them, Jesse and Tup on his tail. They’re carrying medpacks. He thinks he could be sobbing with relief.

“Bring them to Schutta; tell him to freeze them,” the Commander orders. Tup yessirs and carries an unconscious Demesne back to the ship immediately.

“Sir,” Jesse says softly and it takes Rex a second to understand he’s addressing him. “You need to move your hand away.” He takes his hand off the Jedi’s abdomen slowly, hesitating. Jesse nods and murmurs, “I spend most of my time around Kix, sir. Let me help.”

“Take him back to the ship and install him in one of the bunkrooms,” Mesh’la snaps behind him. “Captain.” Rex’s eyes stay on Maul—he can’t look away. “ _Captain._ ”

“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth. The Commander steps into his line of sight. He’s in full armor—only the helmet is missing.

“Take the scientist and go back to _Scimitar_ immediately,” he says. When he doesn’t move, he snaps, “That’s an order, captain.”

Slowly, Jesse coaxes Maul out of his arms and Rex stands up stiffly. He goes to fetch Latinn, putting him on his pauldron. Fives is looking at him, an unconscious Echo slung over his shoulder. He's waiting for him. Rex didn’t notice. He nods sharply and turns towards the ship. Commander Mesh’la has taken his place; Maul is dangling limply in his arms, Jesse tending to his open wound. The Jedi groans in pain. Rex stops himself from taking a step forward.

“Mesh’la?” The Commander shushes him. “ _Me’bana_?”

“ _Udesii, vod,_ ” he replies. “ _Jate an_.”

When Rex steps onto the ramp, Dogma directs him to the ‘fresher. He steps into the ready room to see Schutta preparing the carbon-freezing chamber. “Her first,” he says without looking and Tup steps forward. The scene feels surreal and Rex has to stop himself from wincing when the sergeant activates it once Demesne is inside. Behind him, Fives curses. The last time they saw one of these things in action, they went to Lola Sayu. That mission had been… difficult. They almost lost Echo to it.

“ _Vod’ika, caba dee unko!_ ” the Sergeant shouts. Dogma goes to him silently, putting his arms on his hips.

“ _Hi chuba da naga_?” he asks and Rex can’t hear Schutta’s reply. Behind them, the airlock closes down; the engines come to life.

Dogma and Tup transport the carbon-frozen form of Doctor Demesne to the hold. She looks peaceful.

“Alright, now him,” the Sergeant says, taking Latinn from his shoulder. “Heavy bastard.”

The emdee droid comes out of the medbay. “I need help to secure trooper Stat in the bacta tank.”

“Er, sure,” Fives says immediately, stepping forward. He’s still carrying Echo on his shoulder.

“Fives,” Rex calls. “ _Fives._ ”

The ARC startles and turns back to him. “Sir?”

“You can put Echo down,” he reminds him. Fives shifts. Rex sighs and extends his arms. “Give him to me.”

The shithead has the audacity to say “Careful,” when he hands him his ARC. Karking Fives. As if he’s never careful with his ARCs.

Rex carries Echo on his shoulder then suddenly finds himself alone in the ready room. He feels the ship shudder and take off. He has trouble believing it. One of the bunkrooms is closed; he assumes Jesse’s in there with Maul until he is transferred into the medbay. Tup and Dogma are in the hold and Schutta’s in the refresher, taking care of freezing Latinn. He takes a look around but doesn’t see the Near Human. He’s either on the upper deck or he’s already frozen.

Rex goes to the open bunkroom and deposits Echo on the lower bunk. He can feel the artificial gravity taking over; they’ve left atmo. Suddenly his hands start shaking.

It takes less than half a minute to feel the pull of a hyperspace jump. He has to lock his knees to stop himself from falling on the floor. He takes off Echo’s helmet and swallows back a gasp. His ARC looks like shit. He can hear hurried movements behind them; the droid speaks and after a minute everything falls back to silence.

Fives comes in and stops to stand beside him. He just stands there, breathing slowly, his visor on Echo. “Come on,” Rex mutters, touching his ARC’s helmet and the reaction is immediate; Fives takes it off, takes a deep breath, releases it shakily and drops down on his knees, his head thumping on the mattress. Rex takes his gauntlet and glove off to card his fingers through his ARC's hair. “Come on,” he repeats, finding the hidden clasp of his pauldrons. “Shell off, brother.”

Fives says nothing but the motions come to him almost instinctively; Rex watches him taking piece after piece and his heart breaks. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat and starts taking off Echo’s pauldrons silently. Once Fives is only wearing his blacks, he helps him out. “I’ll keep watch,” Rex whispers when both armors are off and Fives slips between Echo and the wall, puts an arm around his waist and he’s out in ten seconds. 

Rex allows himself a minute to watch over them. When the minute has passed, he steps out of the bunkroom.

Dogma is sitting in front of the medbay, staring at the closed door and Tup is right beside him, his head lying on the other’s shoulder. His hair’s a mess; Rex takes the elastic he keeps tied to one of the clasps of his kama and silently puts his trooper’s hair into a high bun, careful not to pull too hard. “Rest. Now,” he mutters, the command easily audible. Neither of them protests; they get up and take their armors off silently. “Upper bunk,” he tells them. He watches them jump and fall asleep in less than a minute.

Rex doesn’t know how long he stays there, watching over his men. It’s only when the medbay’s door opens that he understands what he’s been waiting for. Jesse comes out; he’s covered in blood. He’s staring at his hands. They’re shaking.

“I think Kix would be proud,” he rasps. Rex starts taking his trooper’s armor off and Jesse lets him. “I don’t want to be a medic,” he blurts out.

“You’re in luck; we already have some,” Rex whispers. Jesse laughs. It’s not a happy laugh but it’s still one nonetheless. Once he only has his boots and blacks on, Rex says, “Come on, brother. Time to rest.”

Jesse nods but lingers in the doorway. “Er, I’m going to sleep in the ready room,” he says.

“Come here, you kriffing moron,” Fives mumbles, raising his arm invitingly. After a couple of seconds spent in silence, he groans. “ _K’olar, di’kut._ ” 

“What about _Shiib’shebs_?” Jesse still asks.

“He won’t mind. Now come here, I’m tired.”

Jesse still lingers in front of the bed. Rex almost intervenes but Fives pushes Echo away a bit and says, “Look, come here, and if Echo ain’t happy he’ll just go upstairs.”

“We don’t mind,” Dogma mumbles.

Rex knocks on the wall twice and says, “Lights out.” The ready room is plunged in darkness as well.

Once he hears all of his men are asleep, his knees threaten to give up. He sits on one of the crates and watches them silently. The medbay is still closed.

The darkness becomes oppressive. He calls on the lift and steps in without thinking too much about it.

When he steps out, his eyes go straight to the viewport. He releases a relieved breath when he sees the blue hues of hyperspace. They left the planet. They really left the planet.

“They don’t look it but the seats are comfortable,” Schutta says. He’s sitting on the floor, his back against Mesh’la’s leg. He has two dark ones and a tool box in front of him, repairing one of the droids. The commander’s hand twitches on his thigh; the sergeant lets the back of his head rest against it. Rex suspects Mesh’la is asleep in the pilot seat.

He takes the seat facing the lift. Once his back rests against it, exhaustion hits him like a Destroyer coming out of hyperspace. If he has to get up, he’s not sure he’ll be able to.

“ETA eleven hours,” Schutta says, eyes still on the droid. “I’m keeping watch and Deebee will alert me if anything happens.” He glances at him. “Get some rest, ‘Alpha’s CT’.”

Rex chuckles. Kark, even that exhausts him. “Haven’t heard that nickname in a while,” he admits. The sergeant grins.

“Ponds used to talk about you a lot. I think he was a bit jealous,” he says then falls silent.

Rex has the sudden memory of seeing Ponds and Neyo talk together in the small arms range, trying to undermine Cody’s concentration. It wasn’t complicated to get Neyo to talk enough that either Cody or Wolffe would try to deck him—you just had to ask about the special _vod_ he kept yapping about. His disaster.

“ _Shu’shuk_?” Rex asks and regrets it immediately. Schutta’s hands on the droid freeze. For a long time, neither of them moves. Then, abrupt and succinct, the sergeant nods once, jaw clenching.

“Get some rest, captain,” he says as soon as Rex opens his mouth to apologize.

He stays silent. Eventually, he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- jate: lit. good (it’s alright/everything is fine)  
> \- me’bana: what happened/what’s going on  
> \- naas: nothing  
> \- tion’ad: who  
> \- na ni haa’tay: i don’t know/i can't see  
> \- ne neyar jage: not my men  
> \- udesii: calm down, relax  
> \- k’olar: get over here  
> \- shiib’shebs: lit. thin ass
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- caba dee unko: get in here  
> \- hi chuba da naga: what do you want
> 
> Guess who’s been writing frodo instead of frodo every single time??? Also it took me the last edit to notice maul was saying “my father was her padawan” instead of “my master” and idk man, but it feels like kiddo is holding a huge grudge against the dark woman because she hurt his d a d


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Customer Reviews — **SIMPLE MISSION TO EREDENN PRIME! DISCOUNTED PRICE FOR TORRENT TROOPERS!**
> 
> “a kriffing disaster” by CT-7567 | in ███ on ███  
> 1.0 out of 5 stars  
>   
> i do NOT recommend it. i just came here to kriff████ seppies and i had to kriff█████ a jedi because my squad wanted to kriff████ us. i’m giving this kriffing ███ 1 star because i can’t kriff██████. im asking for a kriff████. i am willing to ████ kriff█████ and give this 3 stars if i can kriff█████ the jedi.
> 
> Helpful? | Comments (1) | Report abuse  
>  CT-7567  
>  whO THE KARK KEEP CENSORING MY REVIEWS

  
  
  
  


“How did you land on Eredenn Prime?”

Rex clenches his jaw and doesn’t reply. He glances at the locked door on his side of the transparisteel viewport, scowling.

On the other side, Gree sighs. “Rex,” he says tiredly.

“I already told you,” he snarls. “I don’t know.”

They’ve been at this for hours. Gree stays calm—it enrages Rex even more.

The _Tranquility_ was the closest Republic ship they could reach that had a fully functional medbay. As soon as they landed on the dock, they were quarantined. It turns out the 41st doesn’t mess with potential risks of infection—whether it’s because of what happened to Commander Offee on Geonosis or not, Rex isn’t sure. What he’s sure about is that the 501st could learn a thing or two about this, though, because, despite Kix’s protest, their protocol is more or less _asking if everything is fine_ and that’s it.

Rex underwent a battery of tests that left him even more tired than he already was. He’s been in this temporary isolation room ever since. They haven’t told him _anything_ about his men. He has no idea where they are. He has no idea if they are alright. He hasn’t even been updated on Maul and Stat. They’ve been interrogating him, asking the same kriffing questions again and again and again, despite the fact that he already told them everything he knows.

It’s been hours, an entire day maybe, and no one informs him about anything outside this karking room.

Gree showed up thirty minutes ago, if Rex counted right. He’s never been more pissed to see his brother. No matter what he says or asks, Gree gives him _nothing._ And this karking _chakaar_ stays calm, as always. Karking steady Gree.

“Let’s try something else,” the _shabuir_ says. Rex snorts. As if he hasn’t heard that multiple times already. “What happened before you joined Maul’s squad?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you take over the Separatist base?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you get the plans for the Pershing?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I’m telling you— _I don’t know,_ so how can I know if I _don’t_?”

“You have to know at least something.”

“I can’t remember!” Rex shouts, banging his fist on the viewport. Gree doesn’t even flinch. “Where are my men?”

“How did you land on Eredenn Prime?”

“I don’t—” He puts his fist in front of his mouth and takes deep breaths. In and out. In and out. “I don’t remember.”

“How can you not remember?”

In and out. “We’ve been over this, already,” Rex sighs. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Gree raises one finger and points at the corners of the room. After a couple of seconds, he takes off his helmet and puts it on the table in front of him. He stands up, stares at the wall, his back to Rex, and takes a deep breath. He holds it for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven seconds then releases it slowly. He repeats the process three times. After that, he turns around and frowns.

Rex stiffens. He _hates_ this frown. It’s the one Cody gives him when he thinks he should intervene. Without meaning to, he becomes even more angry. Gree takes a holocom out of his belt and places it on the table.

“We’re not the enemy, _vod_ ,” he says tiredly.

Rex scoffs, then signs something vaguely rude that Alpha taught him. “ _You_ ’re the one treating me like I’m the enemy,” he snarls. “I’ve been stuck here for kark knows how long, interrogated like I’m a kriffing Sep spy and you tell _me_ you’re not the enemy?” Unbelievable. He clamps his mouth shut to stop himself from insulting him with all his might.

Gree stares him down for half a minute then sighs. He turns on his holocom and says, “You have two minutes.” He leaves the room without another word.

The hologram of Cody appears. “Captain Rex,” he says with a slight nod.

Rex stiffens at the tone and straightens his back immediately. That's the marshal commander tone. “Sir,” he acknowledges with a respectful nod. There are alarms ringing at the back of his head. Something is very wrong for him to get this treatment.

The marshal commander keeps his helmet on. “I am going to ask questions,” he begins calmly. “You will answer as precisely as you are able to. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” he says immediately.

“How long did you stay on Eredenn Prime?”

Rex stares at the table. They allegedly arrived an entire standard day before joining Maul’s squad. He’d wager at least two days passed between this time and reuniting with his men, which would mean three days. “Between three to four days,” he answers. The marshal commander nods slowly. Rex tries not to react.

“Can you recollect what led to Knight Maul being shot?”

“Doctor Demesne shot him to prevent us from leaving the planet with the plans for the Pershing,” he tells him. He receives another nod for his answer. Somehow, it soothes his nerves.

“What can you tell me about Doctor Demesne?” the marshal commander asks, voice almost monotonous. It always works. Out of all the brothers who went through Command Training, Cody was the only one who never needed to raise his voice. When he spoke, the others listened. When he suggested something, Alpha listened. When he comments on something, the Jedi listen. There’s just something about Cody—something even the original did not have. When he looks at you, it seems like the entire galaxy does; suddenly, what you do does not have an influence only on you and those around you but also on those you don’t know or even think about. Suddenly, the entire galaxy is counting on you and you can feel the weight on your shoulders.

Rex doesn’t know _why_ but he’s pretty certain there’s nothing worse than disappointing Cody. Fierfek—he’d rather marry Grievous than disappoint his brother.

“Mirialan—works in energy enhancement, in charge of the whole project.” He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “Core accent, sympathizes with the Separatist cause. She didn’t want us to get the blueprints and was ready to die and kill her colleagues to make sure no one would.” He can’t stop himself from sighing. “She’s the female encased in carbonite.”

The marshal commander doesn’t nod this time. Rex stiffens.

“What can you tell me about Valor?”

He frowns. “The space station?” he asks, confused. What has Valor got to do with his mission? He shakes his head and huffs. “General Skywalker will attend a conference there with you and General Kenobi. It was planned three weeks after we took off for Eredenn Prime.”

The marshal commander nods, twice. Something’s not right. Rex tries not to fidget.

“What can you tell me about the Dauntless?”

Rex opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He has no idea what the Dauntless is—if it’s a space station, a weapon or even a ship. Fierfek, it could even be a group of some kind he doesn’t know about.

“Captain.”

He stands up abruptly. His heart is hammering inside his chest—he has trouble breathing. He needs to get out. He needs to leave. Out, now, _ou—_

“Captain,” the marshal commander growls and Rex freezes, eyes widening. His hands are shaking. “Tell me everything you know about the Dauntless.”

“I don’t know,” he rasps. “I—what’s the Dauntless?”

Silence.

Rex swallows instinctively. He can feel his blood pumping hard in his ears. He blinks, tries to calm down through the panic. His hands twitch on their own. His lungs burn and his muscles clench without him wanting to. “What’s the Dauntless?” he repeats.

“Where were you before you took off for Eredenn Prime?”

“Coruscant,” he hears himself reply. What’s the Dauntless?

“What ship did you take to go to Eredenn Prime?”

“I—” he closes his mouth. “We—” He doesn’t remember. He feels sick to his stomach. He doesn’t remember. “No,” he snaps, shaking his head. “Not again. I don’t—” He takes a deep breath and can’t find air.

He’s drowning. He’s drowning—he can’t breathe. His vision becomes unfocused; he sees but he can’t _see._ What—

Rex feels something, at the back of his mind—something prodding, softly. He latches onto it, doesn’t think about anything else and suddenly he is flooded with a sense of peace. He gasps. It's a suggestion, insistent but not forceful—there's something familiar about this specific mix that soothes him immediately. _Breathe with me._ Rex comes out of the water, takes a deep breath and releases it shakily. He can breathe. He’s alright. He’s fine. _Breathe with me._ In and out. He can breathe. In and out. He's alright.

He lets his head thump against the wall behind him. “I'm alright,” he gasps, chest heaving. His lungs are still burning but he can breathe. “Thank you.” He opens his eyes. When did he sit down on the ground?

“What just happened?” Gree asks softly. Since when did he come back? “Right now—who did you say ‘thank you’ to?”

Rex glances at Cody’s hologram. Still there. “Senator Amidala,” he says without thinking. Gree frowns but says nothing. “What’s the Dauntless?”

“A ship,” the marshal commander says. “Admiral Dahn’s flagship.”

“Where is it now?”

“Destroyed,” Gree replies. “It’s space debris orbiting Carida.”

Carida. That’s where the Valor station is.

“I don’t understand,” Rex says, blinking. “What’s that got to do with my mission?”

Gree crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, glancing at the hologram. The marshal commander nods slowly. Rex straightens.

“Seven weeks ago, you and your men went aboard the _Dauntless._ They were bound to Felucia. You were to take one of their corvettes once you reached Lianna and go on your own to Eredenn,” Gree explains. Something passes over his face. “We lost contact with the cruiser before you reached Arcan IV.”

“Hang on,” Rex says. “ _Seven_ weeks ago?”

“The _Dauntless_ never made it to Felucia,” the marshal commander says. “Three weeks later, the Separatists sent it filled with Rhydonium to Valor during the Republic Navy strategy conference to crash on the station.”

Rex’s listens to the words in horror. That’s—General Skywalker was there and General Kenobi as well and—

“Everybody survived, Rex,” Gree says, leaning closer to the viewport separating them. “No one died.”

He releases a shaky breath, nods gratefully in silence then asks, “Did the crew tell you what happened?” Gree glances at Cody silently. Dread encompasses him.

“We don’t know what happened to the crew,” the commander says with a frown. “You and your men are the only ones to have reappeared ever since. It’s been a month, Rex.”

“How—” He puts his head between his hands. “That’s impossible. We weren’t stuck there for an entire month. That’s not possible.” He gets up and starts pacing.

“Rex,” Cody says, making him go still. “You were gone for an entire month.”

He looks at the hologram. Cody’s in full armor. He’s standing straight, hands behind his back. How long has it been since he took off his shell in front of someone else?

An entire month, most likely. “I’m sorry,” Rex tells him. His brother nods sharply.

“The probes we sent after you arrived confirmed what you reported from Eredenn,” Gree says. “We sent some before but we lost contact with them before they could reach orbit.” He sighs heavily. “You have to understand us, Rex. You’re telling us you spent three days tops on this planet and you can’t even remember most of them. You have no idea what happened to the crew of the _Dauntless_ and you all barged in with a dying Jedi.” He frowns in worry. “We’re bound to have questions, brother.”

“I—” Rex swallows and nods slowly. “Yeah, okay.” He sits back on the chair and puts his hands flat on the table. “I don’t remember anything else,” he admits. “I have—memories of a temple but I can’t remember how we arrived there. I can’t even remember what happened after the first explosion.” He scratches the back of his head. “I know Maul couldn’t see for some time but I don’t know why.” He shrugs helplessly. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. What did the others tell you?”

Gree sits back down and his eyebrows raise. “Your men don’t remember much either. As for the others—” His jaw clenches. “They’ve yet to talk.” He scoffs then says, “Schutta hasn’t even said a word and Mesh’la keeps messing with my men.”

Rex nods, smiling wryly. “I’m not surprised. You won’t get anything from them.” There’s no way Schutta will talk if the commander never gave the green light and Mesh’la is an Alpha-class. If he doesn’t want to talk then he won’t, no matter what they try. “How’s Stat?”

Gree shrugs. “What do you expect? He’s bound to Kamino.”

“What? No.” 

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Maul won’t let that happen,” he says, certain. “The longnecks won’t get him.”

“Maul is still unconscious,” Cody tells him. Rex snorts.

“No, he isn’t,” he retorts then clamps his mouth shut. Gree cocks his head.

“How do you know that?” he asks.

“I just—I just know,” he stammers, feeling awkward. 

“You just know,” Cody repeats but doesn’t move. “Alright. How long do they have?”

“Thirteen hours, I’d say,” Gree muses. “Fifteen, if they’re lucky.”

“What?” Rex blinks. “Thirteen hours before what?”

“Before General Skywalker comms in,” Gree tells him. 

Cody snorts. “Enjoy until then.” He moves a bit. “I have paperwork to do.”

“Oh? Where’s your general?” Gree asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Mandalore,” he tells them. “Solo mission.” He nods sharply at them both then says, “ _Ret'urcye mhi, vode._ ”

“ _Ret'urcye mhi,_ ” they repeat instinctively. His hologram goes out. Gree takes his holocom back and opens Rex’s door with his vambrace.

“Your men are all resting on Level Six; we released them three hours ago.” He takes a look at his chrono. “You have at least four hours before I’ll have to drag you to the bridge,” he tells him. “And you have full access to my quarters.”

Rex nods and puts his bucket on. “I need a shower,” he says with a sigh. Well. At least he had time to clean his shell. He goes in the corridor and Gree joins him. They walk silently. The commander is looking at something on his datapad, his helmet fastened to his belt. 

“You look tired, brother,” Rex mutters. The other looks at him with a wry smile.

“I don’t know. It’s just—” Gree sighs with a small shrug. “The commander’s been… distant, lately. She’s on Coruscant right now and she hasn’t called.”

“How long?”

“A week.” Rex winces. Usually, Commander Tano will comm them _at least_ twice a week if she is in the Temple and he knows how close Gree is with Commander Offee.

“You asked Thire to check up on her? Maybe she just needs to… Have something outside of—” he gestures vaguely at the ship.

Gree stays silent, closing himself off. Rex almost stops walking. That’s unusual coming from him. “ _Vod_?” he ventures.

“It’s been a while since I talked to Thire,” he mutters. He averts his gaze. “And I don’t think we’ll be talking anytime soon.”

Rex feels like ice replaced blood in his veins. He nods sharply but stays silent.

There’s something most of the CCs have learned but never talk about out loud—the brothers in command on Coruscant become… _different_ as the war goes on. None of Rex’s batchers ended up in Guard so he’s never been directly in contact with any of them but he still knows. It started with Fox. At first, the CCs thought it was because of the gap they have with those on the battlefield; Guard’s day-to-day lives are drastically different compared to them.

But it’s more than that.

They started becoming more distant; they replied less and less to holocalls. When they’re on leave on the city planet, the Guard don’t mingle as much as they used to with them. If they go to 79’s, the Guard are usually the ones who need the most help getting back to the barracks in one piece. Fox hasn’t set foot in 79’s since at least the second battle of Geonosis. 

He used to be a nice brother to hang out with. Now, it’s a miracle if he acknowledges their shared past. The worst of it is that Rex _knows_ it’s not because Fox would rather forget they used to be close—he just doesn’t remember anymore.

It’s not as obvious as Neyo. It’s just little details. When Rex went to talk to him after Christophsis, Fox was a little bit too slow to laugh at some joke or another about their time in Command Training. When he commed him after Mimban, Fox had avoided saying Rex’s name until Cody did. After Umbara, when Fox saw him going to 79s, he only gave him a polite nod, didn’t even try to talk. The HUD can’t give you a clone’s designation if they don’t wear a bucket. And Rex didn’t have his at the time.

Rex had hoped, maybe, that it would be different with Thire. He’s not as much on Coruscant as the other Guards; he’s usually the one sent to escort senators on diplomatic missions. Somehow, they all thought it would prevent him from becoming different.

But Gree is his batcher, so if he tells Rex Thire isn’t really the same then Rex can’t do anything but believe him.

“Give her time, maybe,” Rex says, going back to a safer topic. “Ours wants some time on her own when she’s on leave but she still thinks about us, you know.”

Gree gives him one of his soft smiles—the ones who became even softer after the 41st got a Padawan Commander. “Yeah, you’re right,” he whispers. “I just worry.”

Rex snorts. He’s in no position to judge because he can’t help it either. Commander Tano isn’t a small youngling anymore—fierfek, she’s a _Jedi_ —but sometimes it’s hard not to remember the _vaar’ika_ with bright eyes who showed up unexpectedly on Christophsis.

“She’s a good kid,” Gree says with a small nod. He stops, looking at the way he’s going. The complete opposite to where Rex is heading. Gree gives him a kind smile and they rattle their vambraces together. 

After that, Rex goes straight to the officers’ quarters. He goes inside Gree’s room and doesn’t even take a look; he takes off his shell and goes directly to the ‘fresher.

He’s being a bastard, staying more than needed in the shower, but it’s hot water and he’s been on edge since he arrived. Once he steps outside, he takes a look at the room. On the desk, there’s a new set of blacks, a shiny comwrist and a brand new datapad. Rex would kiss Gree if he were here. It’s probably why he isn’t. 

He goes to Level Six and takes a look at the chrono. 1458. The barracks are mostly empty at this hour. Luck is on his side; Fives comes out of one of the bunkrooms just as he passes by. The ARC sees him and comes straight to him. He’s in full armor, the helmet attached to his belt, but there’s something wrong. Rex frowns and—

“Those aren’t your pauldrons,” he says wryly. Fives blinks, startled, and his head goes from left to right quickly. His right pauldron is blue. Rex raises an eyebrow.

“Er—mine are, er—dirty?” Fives says, shifting from one foot to the other, scratching at the back of his head, and, most importantly, lying through his teeth. They really need to work on that. If Rex were a better liar, they’d already have, though. As it is, any piece of advice he can give him is completely useless, otherwise he wouldn’t be so bad at lying himself.

“Hmm,” Rex says, not even hiding how terrible that excuse was. “Echo holding up?”

“Yeah, yeah. Still sleeping,” he answers, pointing at the bunkroom behind him. “I was just going to join Jesse in the mess, actually. You hungry?”

His stomach rumbles loudly. Fierfek. He didn’t even notice. He gestures at him to lead the way. He won’t enter with him—it wouldn’t do for an officer to come in when he doesn’t know how the 41st operate about these things—but he can at least walk with him for a bit.

“Tup’s in the medbay with Dogma,” Fives mutters. Rex looks at him sharply. “No, no—they’re just staying with Stat. They’re okay.”

He nods. “Did you see Commander Mesh’la or Sergeant Schutta yet?” Fives snorts.

“They were in the _Scimitar_ when I was cleared; they’d locked themselves up as soon as we were dragged into the interrogation rooms and refused to communicate. Tup told me the sarge’s with them now; I assume the commander is either still in the ship or wherever Maul is.” Rex tries not to react to the name. Fives gives him a side glance. “From what I heard, the _Jetii_ ’s been driving everybody crazy on the bridge.” He chuckles. “I don’t know if it’s true but apparently he commed the longnecks just to insult them.”

“How do you know all that?” Rex blurts out. The ARC grins.

“I’m a fantastic spy when I want to be,” he says with a proud shake of his head. Rex stares at him with raised eyebrows. He’s full of shit and they both know it. After a moment, Fives mutters, “Jesse became friends with some of the brothers working on the bridge.”

Rex snorts. Yeah. Sounds more likely. Fives will always have people ready to follow him in record time but the one who can really find out all the good info quickly is Jesse. He’s less brash than Fives, less likely to ruffle someone’s feathers, a bit softer around the edges and he has smooth communication skills Echo lacks. It’s a miracle intelligence hasn’t snatched him already—and Rex isn’t going to make it easy on them. As soon as he can, he’s sending him to Alpha and claiming him exclusively for Torrent. His ARCs are his, period.

Once they approach the mess, Rex slows down. Fives looks at him with confusion but, when he sees the way the brothers in green glance at them as they pass, his eyes widen and he nods slowly.

“Should I go to the officers’ mess?” Fives asks with a frown. Rex shakes his head.

“I think you’re good,” he tells him. “I’m going to check the medbay.”

Fives nods. “I’ll probably go back to sleep,” he admits with a snort. “I’m beat.”

Rex thumps his ARC’s backplate and lets him go to the mess. Jesse sees him through the doorway; the trooper is eating with an entire squad, smacked right in the middle. He waves enthusiastically at Rex with no discretion whatsoever. Rex rolls his eyes but still waves back—albeit more discreetly. He turns away before the trooper can get any ideas.

The brothers he crosses path with all acknowledge him with a nod. They all seem on edge. Some of them are tense the way clones are when the prospect of imminent danger looms over them. He needs to find out where they’re heading to.

The medbay is mostly empty. It’s a good sight. One of the brothers in white smiles at him when he walks closer and points him to the corner furthest from them where privacy curtains partition a good portion of the bay. Rex nods at him in thanks and walks there silently.

He hesitates at first, especially when he hears the snores. He stands there and is hit with the thought that maybe he shouldn’t have come here. He has no idea if Stat wants to see anyone now and Rex is probably far on the list of people he wants to see.

The curtain is drawn for him and his eyebrows raise high—the hand that draws them apart is red with black markings. 

“They’re all sleeping,” the Jedi murmurs, inviting him inside. For a moment, Rex is left dumbstruck. He knew Maul was _okay_ but he didn’t imagine he would already be up and walking. He looks _good_ actually which is… baffling. 

It takes him a moment to realize he hasn’t moved. Rex blinks then steps inside abruptly. At least he hasn’t woken up anyone.

Schutta’s head is lying on the bed and he seems deeply asleep. Stat’s hand is curled around the sarge’s elbow. He’s sleeping as well—the bedsheets hide his stump. He looks exhausted but less awful than Rex imagined.

His troopers are sleeping next to each other, their backs leaning on the opposite wall from the bed. Dogma’s nose is planted in Tup’s hair and the latter is drooling on the former’s shoulder guard. They look ridiculous. Rex allows himself a small smile. It’s impressive how much Dogma changed. He’s still as sharp as ever but he’s less… uptight. Rex has an inkling it has everything to do with constant exposure to the sarge and the Alpha-class. He seems to fit better in his shell, less like a shiny who just got paint and more like a brother who is used to refreshing it with his eyes closed.

In another universe, maybe Dogma would have grown to be like this while still in Torrent. Maybe he’d have become brasher like Fives, or sharper like Echo. Maybe he’d have revealed himself to be on the softer side like Jesse and Kix. Most likely, Rex thinks he would’ve grown to become more like himself.

Maul walks closer to Dogma and brushes a finger against his temple. His trooper flashes a quick smile in his sleep and sighs heavily, relaxing further.

“They’re going to be fine,” the Jedi whispers, eyes still on the _vod._ Rex doesn’t know which one of them he is trying to convince. 

He still nods silently in agreement. They will be fine. Might take time, which they don’t really have, but they’ll be fine. 

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Maul asks, looking at him, and suddenly Rex can’t remember how to form words.

He’d thought, well, _hoped,_ maybe, that his… unfortunate attraction would just go away once he was off Eredenn Prime. It wouldn’t be very surprising for a clone to be drawn to the closest Jedi in a dire situation, knowing having one nearby is always a good sign. But Rex is on the _Tranquility_ right now. His men are okay; they’re all _safe._ He’s back on solid grounds.

Knight Maul is looking at him, eyes glowing beneath his hood, with a hesitant uptick of his mouth, and Rex’s heart hammers like a caged nexu trying to get out. 

“Er, no,” he stammers, very intelligently, and, since he is a complete fool, he adds, “Senator.”

The Jedi grins, eyes crinkling, and tilts his head to the side, as if looking at him from another angle will confirm how much of an idiot Rex is. 

“I have nothing to do,” he adds. He’s not wearing his helmet. Kark, the blush is probably visible.

Maul bites his lower lip, stopping himself from laughing out loud, because their men are sleeping _right next to them,_ and thank the Force his ARCs aren’t here. Rex would’ve never lived it down otherwise.

“I was going to the mess,” the Jedi whispers, eyes staring at the floor, taking a step forward and turning away from their men. “Forgive me for being so forward but I can clearly sense you are hungry.”

For a long moment, Rex only blinks. Food. He means food. 

Maul’s eyes slide up to his face and he asks, “Come with me?”

He’s hit with a memory coming at the forefront of his mind, of Maul asking him the same question, of Maul _shirtless_ and he has no idea when this was exactly.

“Yeah,” he rasps, swallowing instinctively. His eyes slide lower on the Jedi’s figure; that’s—huh. He’s not wearing armor and it’s actually the first time he looks like the Generals Rex is used to—with layers on top of layers but not a single piece of armor. Now that he’s really looking, Maul’s attire is not so different from General Skywalker’s. He blinks. “Er, lead the way, sir,” he blurts out with a swipe of his hand, taking a step back.

He sees the way the _Jetii’_ s eyes shine and he already knows he will have to control the way he reacts to whatever Maul is going to say.

“Don’t you mean ‘Senator Amidala’?” the shithead asks and Rex goes for a frown. The Jedi tries to hide his grin beneath his hood and draws the curtains apart to leave.

“You’re not going to let me get away with that one,” Rex grumbles, following him outside the medbay. He puts on his helmet, just to have some semblance of normalcy. Maul slows down so that they walk side by side and folds his hands into his sleeves. He looks like a typical Jedi with his hood on. It’s a bit weird to realize that the sight doesn’t startle Rex as much as it did when he saw him coming back in the cockpit after he walked Dogma to the medbay.

Maul hums in thought. “I haven’t decided yet,” he mutters seriously. “I rather like being called Senator Amidala, you see.”

“Oh, really?” he retorts. The Jedi nods.

“You don’t believe me?” he has the audacity to ask.

“I think you’re full of shit, senator,” Rex says wryly then almost misses a step. What. Did he just say that out loud?

The Jedi laughs softly, so as not to attract too much attention to themselves. “I think you may be right,” he mutters.

Once the doors to the officers’ mess open, he almost falls a step behind him. In less than three seconds, all heads are turned towards them. He can hear Maul sigh and Rex glances at him when he sees him take off his hood.

Rather than go for a tray, the Jedi goes directly to the counter, asking for something. The _vod_ behind seems surprised but he goes to the back. 

“We’re not eating here,” Rex guesses. Maul winces.

“There are many officers here with whom I should talk if we stay here and I don’t want to,” he says bluntly.

“We’re not supposed to eat outside the mess,” he reminds with a frown. The Jedi shrugs.

“I’m a civilian. I don’t know that and I asked you to come with me.” He gives him a quick glance. “I don’t think anyone is going to stop us.”

“And if they do, senator?”

“I do not speak Basic,” he replies smoothly. “ _Shi Mando’a._ ”

Rex snorts and allows himself the right to roll his eyes. He’s got his bucket on. No one can see him if he grins. The brother comes back with two sealed containers and a shy smile.

“I added a couple of sweets for your medic, sir,” he tells Maul, handing him the containers. Once his hands are free, he rolls up his left sleeve and shows them his skin. The scars say a third degree burn but this isn't what catches Rex's eyes—his tattoo says _Mud Jumper._ “I was serving under General Tik on Mimban. Twenty’s probably the reason why I’m still here.” He clears his throat and his eyes shift to the ground. “Well—he and Commander Whaea.”

“Thank you,” Maul says with a small bow. “What is your name? I will tell Stat they come from you.”

“Fangs, sir, but I didn’t have my name yet; I was only CT-20-1027. I doubt he remembers me.”

“Still, Fangs—Thank you.”

The brother fidgets, salutes sharply then goes away. When they leave, Rex ignores the way the others stare at them. Maul gives a table of high-ranking natborns a smile so fake he is certain no one can possibly believe it is genuine.

Rex waits for them to be far enough from the mess to ask, “Did something happen on the bridge?”

The Jedi leads them to a lift. There’s no one inside. They go to the highest level.

“It depends on what you mean by ‘something’.”

Once he steps outside, Rex frowns. They’re in the hangar space. Maul walks to the middle of the bridge in front of them then stops. He looks up. There’s a small maintenance platform there. There’s no safety railing.

“You can’t be serious,” Rex protests.

“The view’s nice,” the Jedi replies with a small shrug.

“I can’t get there,” he tries.

“I can help.” Maul jumps, still holding the containers, and lands on the platform gracefully. He puts the food down and raises his hands. “Captain?”

Rex bites his lip. The view really seems nice. He shifts on his other foot. His hands clench and unclench.

Maul blinks then something passes over his face. He smiles softly and says, “I won’t let you fall.” It takes Rex a couple of seconds. Focusing solely on Maul, he nods minutely. He won't let him fall. “I _will_ catch you, captain.”

“Okay,” he rasps. Then he feels it.

The sensation scares him at first—it always does—but it’s not what he expects. Rather than feeling like he is drowning, he feels like he is finally breathing after being underwater. Fresh air expands his lungs and suddenly he’s in zero G; Maul pulls him towards him, his hands welcoming his ascent. He steps onto the platform, the Jedi tugging him away from the edge with a soft grin, hands curling around Rex’s elbow.

“Look,” he tells him, his chin pointing to the ground. Rex’s eyes slide down.

From up there, the people on the ground seem small, but the view of the starships is breathtaking. Smacked in the middle of V-wing starfighters lies _Scimitar,_ its folded wings similar to a cocoon around its spherical cockpit.

“Where did you find her?” Rex asks, visor going back to Maul.

“Tatooine,” he whispers, eyes still on her. “I stole it.”

He raises an amused eyebrow. “Do you like to steal things, senator?”

The Jedi flashes a quick grin, eyes sliding to Rex’s helmet, settling above his visor. “Not just things,” he mutters. He releases his elbows and steps aside, picking up the containers. “Are you hungry, captain?”

They sit down with their feet dangling over the edge. Rex takes his helmet off and places it between them. He opens his container. It’s a mix of dry rations, fruit, water and an insane amount of sweets. He takes a glance at Maul’s, thinking maybe he’s got Stat’s portion but the Jedi has as much sweets as he does. “He wasn’t joking when he said he added _a couple,_ ” Rex comments out loud.

Maul only shrugs and starts eating the rations, licking his fingers clean each time he takes one. Rex averts his gaze and focuses on his own food.

After a minute spent in a comfortable silence, looking at the people below, he catches odd movements at the corner of his eye. He takes a quick glance and turns his head to hide his grin. Maul is throwing berries up in the air only to catch them with his mouth. He catches every single one of them.

“Are you using the Force?” Rex asks with a baffled laugh. The Jedi stares at him with affront.

“No,” he scoffs. He does it again, throwing a berry and catching it smoothly, and, with a smug smile, says, “I don’t need to.”

“Did you train for this?” 

Maul stays silent for a long moment. “Maybe,” he admits. Rex giggles, putting a hand over his mouth. “In my defence, I was still a youngling.” He shifts a bit. “I wanted to impress Luminara.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” he replies with a snort. He does it again, this time with a piece of Jogan fruit while Rex drinks. Maul swallows it quickly then a small chuckle escapes him. “But it worked with Kit.”

Rex coughs, thumping on his chestplate since water went down the wrong pipe. Maul laughs openly, throwing his head back.

“You and _General Fisto_?” he exclaims. Somehow, this boggles him even more than imagining General Skywalker with High General Windu—and that one is… weird. If Fives hadn’t suggested it once, just to mess with them, Rex would have never even thought about it.

“No, we were too young,” Maul replies. “But now I know how to do this—” he demonstrates again, “—without using the Force.”

Rex nods slowly, trying not to smile. “Is it an important skill to have?”

“Yes,” the Jedi replies with a wise nod. “I am sure I could impress even the Chancellor with that. Could you?”

He shrugs, picking up a berry. “I don’t know. Let’s see.” He throws it in the air and tries to eat it. It bounces on his forehead then falls down on the ground below.

“Colour me impressed,” the Jedi says like a little shit. Rex glares. He tries again. It doesn’t land on his face; it goes straight to the ground.

“Wait,” he says, raising his hand. Maul stays silent. He takes his time, aims higher up. When he opens his mouth, he knows he got it.

The berry never lands in his mouth—once it’s almost touching his lips, it flies to the side in a perpendicular angle. Rex turns his head sharply and scoffs, staring at Maul, who is acting like nothing’s wrong.

“You cheated,” he accuses.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, captain,” he says, swallowing his berry.

“I can’t believe it,” he says with a slow shake of his head. “What would General Unduli think, senator?”

“I never cheated with her because I knew she’d caught me,” he snorts. “It was easier cheating with Obi-Wan.”

“Really?” Rex says with a frown. He has a hard time believing it. Maul looks at him with a glint in his eyes and smiles with all his teeth.

After that, they eat while exchanging stories—Maul tells him about his childhood in the Temple while Rex talks about the time when he and Cody were still wearing reds. Every time the Jedi talks about General Kenobi, he has an indescriptible look in his eyes—a strange mix of fondness and loss. Is this how Rex looks when he talks about his batchers?

“Was Kote your batchmate?” the Jedi asks in curiosity.

“Ah, no,” he replies with a wry smile. “My batchers didn’t make it to the third growth. We all got mutations—mine was… not too problematic.” He shrugs. “You’re close with General Kenobi, aren’t you?”

Maul takes a deep breath and looks at _Scimitar_ below. “I used to be,” he whispers. “Obi-Wan is probably the closest thing I have to a brother.” He glances back at him. “It’s been a long time now. I haven’t seen him since I left the Temple.”

“Why don’t you now?” he asks. He could, easily, and Rex is sure General Kenobi would be happy if he did. Fierfek—the Jedi needs as much happiness as he can get.

For a long moment, Maul stares at him with a lost look in his eyes. “I’m not sure,” he mutters, averting his gaze. His fingers hover over Rex’s helmet, over the Jaig eyes, but he never touches them.

“You—” his comwrist beeps. He frowns and opens the channel.

“Captain,” General Unduli says, “Pardon me for the intrusion but I was wondering if you know where Knight Maul is?”

“He’s with me, sir,” he says, looking at the Jedi in question. He only receives a shrug.

“Ah, good,” she says and he can hear her smile. “Could you both come to the bridge? The High Council would like to hear your reports about your joint mission.”

When Maul nods, Rex says, “We’re on our way, General.”

“Could you please tell Knight Maul to take his comlink with him? Thank you.” 

The communication is cut short. 

“You don’t have your comlink on you?” The Jedi shakes his head. “Where is it?”

“There,” he says, pointing at his ship with his chin. “I don’t need it. I can sense it if my men need me.” Rex laughs, incredulous. The Jedi gets up. “Shall we, then?”

He points at the ship. Rex stares at him and blinks. “You…”

“Luminara said I should take my comlink, yes? This is the shortest way.” He gives him his hand to help him up. “I will catch you, captain. I won’t let you fall on your own.”

Rex takes his hand. He puts on his helmet, picks up both containers and sighs heavily. “Alright,” he grumbles. The grin Maul gives him is blinding. 

The Jedi somersaults and dives head first. Rex’s heart threatens to stop until he lands safely on the ground. He feels a slight pull after that—not so much as a nudge but more like a presence. Somehow, it reassures him. 

Rex breathes deeply and takes a leap of faith.

  
  
  


* 

  
  
  


“I’m fine,” Stat growls.

Schutta scowls but clamps his mouth shut when Dogma taps on his bracer discreetly. The medic takes a step—too heavy. Maul says nothing. He stops himself from offering his hand; he knows it will be considered a slight.

Naboo’s gravity is higher than Coruscant’s and, therefore, higher than artificial grav on Republic ships. It is still suitable for Humans but it may take some time to acclimate to it. _Vode_ are made to adapt quickly; they train as much in low G environments as they do in high G. Their limbs are made to adjust in record time.

Stat’s leg is constantly trying to adapt to his cybernetic replacement. Even in full armour, he is still unbalanced—his flesh leg is much lighter than his prosthetic one.

They don’t know what is best—to avert their gazes or look at him struggling. In either case, it feels like admitting defeat. 

Schutta can’t stand it; he takes a step forward. “ _Vod—_ ”

“No,” Stat snarls. He puts all of his weight on his cybernetic leg; they can see the sharp shock of hurt crossing his face only to be quickly suppressed. The neural interface isn’t calibrated; the electrical impulses are still too high. Maul ducks his chin. They’ve been at it for days. They still can’t find the right parameters and Stat doesn’t want to spend more time on it. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not, _chakaar_! Let m—”

“Get tae,” he says through gritted teeth. Schutta insults him and storms off. Stat ignores him. He puts one foot in front of the other and goes down the ramp step by step. When he finally lands on the earth, he exhales shakily and nods quickly. Dogma is at his side in the blink of an eye, slinging his brother’s arm around his shoulders. “I’m okay,” he whispers, his hand extending towards Maul. He doesn't wait; he immediately closes the distance between them and takes his medic’s hand in his own, horns rattling against his shoulder guard. “No,” Stat says when Maul taps his thigh guard with his fingertips. He can feel his pain—he can soothe it easily. He does not understand why Stat refuses his help but he cannot force it.

“Let me help, _tat_ ,” he tries. The medic shakes his head.

“No,” he says once again. “This is enough.”

As soon as Mesh’la is out of _Scimitar_ he goes to them, putting his arms around him and Dogma silently, and kisses Stat’s temple. Maul can feel his worry, his anger and frustration. None of it is visible.

They split into three groups. Schutta stays on his own, in constant contact with the DRK-1s. Dogma goes with Stat. Maul and Mesh’la are expected by Queen Apailana.

Theed is a beautiful city— _Naboo_ is a beautiful planet. It is unfortunate how cold the city now feels. Maul does not need to know the exact location of Master Jinn’s death to feel it when they are close by. Darkness still resides like a permanent feature, immutable.

“Sir?” Mesh’la inquires when they walk near the Hangar, sensing his unease. Maul grimaces.

“The Dark side has tainted this place. I can still feel its pull,” he admits. Revulsion would describe his first reaction, followed by disgust and the unnerving sensation that danger is still near. Below all this also resides a strange, alluring pull—like a whisper, a call and a promise of power and gratification. These past few years, this forbidden pull has not ceased to grow. The more clouded the Force feels, the more tempting it becomes.

Sometimes, Maul wonders. Count Dooku was the most prominent within their ranks to Fall but he wonders how many have succumbed since the war started. There were nineteen busts in the Temple when Maul was still a youngling—nineteen Jedi Masters disillusioned with the Code, lost throughout history. There must be another one now, Count Dooku’s, but he wonders how many there will be after the war. It is painful to admit it but the chances that there will only be twenty busts decrease as the war goes on. How many Knights will leave? How many will Fall?

“Sir,” his Commander says, tapping their bracers together, bringing him back to the task at hand.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, taking a deep breath. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ “Queen Apailana is waiting.”

The walk to the Royal Palace is spent in silence. The guards acknowledge them peacefully but Maul can feel how strongly Mesh’la’s presence is disturbing them. It seems the war did not truly make its way to Naboo; it’s both surprising and expected, considering this is the Chancellor’s homeworld.

The Palace is magnificent. They are led to the throne room as soon as they step inside; Queen Apailana sits regally, her eyes boring directly into his own. The Naboo monarchs can be of all ages since every candidate must remain anonymous during elections. It is very striking to see individuals so young leading such a prosperous planet flawlessly. 

Maul takes off his hood and bows respectfully once they stand in front of her. He can feel how some of the guards tense once his face is revealed. “Queen Apailana,” he says while Mesh’la stands at attention.

“Jedi Knight Maul,” she acknowledges with a customary nod. “Commander Meisler.”

Now that formalities are dealt with, Maul starts, “We have reason to believe a wanted fugitive is hiding on your planet, your Highness.” Her face does not betray anything but some of the politicians around her frown. “It is imperative we find him as quickly as possible.” He takes his Hush-98 out of his bracer and turns it on. The holo of Aodh Demesne appears.

“I am afraid you are too late,” the Queen says, surprising them both. “A Jedi Master came here a standard month ago and took your fugitive with him.”

A Jedi Master? Maul blinks. A month ago they were still on Eredenn Prime. How is this possible? This would mean Aodh Demesne would have been caught as soon as he escaped yet the Council did not even know where the Mirialan was when Maul reported to them on the _Tranquility._

“Forgive me, your Highness,” he says, recovering. “Are you certain this is the man he took with him?”

The politicians look at the Queen in silence. Some of the Handmaidens seem disturbed by his words. The guards tense, albeit discreetly.

“Yes,” she declares. From what Maul can sense, she is telling the truth, which means she is either mistaken or something is amiss. 

“May I inquire about the name of this Jedi Master?” he asks.

“Master Antilles.” The moment the name leaves her lips, Maul feels how _outraged_ his Commander is—so much that Maul has trouble hiding his reaction to it. The feeling disappears as quickly as it surged through but it leaves him reeling nonetheless. “Was the High Council not aware of this?”

How is he supposed to answer this? He cannot officially admit that the High Council still thinks his master is dead but he cannot lie either.

“Master Antilles mostly works undercover,” Mesh’la declares, taking off his helmet. “Given the nature of his missions, updates can take time, your Highness.”

“I see.” She does not, in fact, seem to believe him at all. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”

Maul smiles. “We will not waste your time any longer,” he says with a bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, your Highness.”

Queen Apailana gives them a small uptick of her mouth, eyes softening. “The Jedi will always be welcome on Naboo,” she says. She nods. “Knight Maul. Commander Meisler.”

They leave the palace in silence. Well. Maul may have just changed the way the Naboo view the Jedi in less than five minutes. He just made a complete fool of himself. He is… not even _surprised_ that it is because of his former master.

“You’d make a terrible politician,” Mesh’la mutters wryly. Maul takes offence. Even if, admittedly, he is entirely right—the awkward exchange they just had being more than proof.

“Some people happen to believe I’d make a good senator,” he protests. His Commander snorts, waving his hand dismissively.

“17’s CT doesn't count.”

“Why not?”

Mesh’la doesn’t answer his question. “I’m relaying the info to the DRK-1s and pulling the boys back,” he tells him then falls entirely silent. No doubt speaking in-comm. 

They’re the firsts back to _Scimitar._ Mesh’la goes to the refresher while Maul takes off his armour. Schutta arrives five minutes later. “Nice walk, I guess,” the sergeant says with a huff, taking off his undercover clothes quickly, as if he cannot stand to wear them any longer.

“Put on clothes,” Maul reminds him. As of yet, Dogma has not gotten used to Schutta’s proclivity for staying naked in the ship. He may not say it but Maul knows it still deeply disturbs him. 

Maul has no idea when he himself got used to it. It took him the mission on Er’Kit and Echo looking scarred for life to realise that having Schutta running around stark naked just because he is bored is an unusual behaviour.

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” his Sergeant grumbles but still complies. Half complies. He puts on pants. It’s going to have to be enough.

“Well _I_ never complained,” Mesh’la says, getting out of the ‘fresher. Schutta throws his dirty shirt at him. The commander doesn’t try to push it off him. “You know what? We should all get naked. Maul, you start.”

He snorts. “If I do this, I think we lose Dogma for good.” Schutta nods sagely. Maul goes to the galley, opens one of the compartments and whines.

“What’s wrong?” Mesh’la shouts from Room 1.

“We’re out of tea,” he says, shoulders dropping. Schutta comes in and pushes him away with his hip.

“No, we’re n—Sithspit, he’s right. Who’s the _sleemo_ who finished the tea and said nothing?”

“Me,” they hear from the airlock. “But I just bought some.”

Dogma comes into the galley as well and sighs, “Here you go.” He pushes his way further in, puts the tea on the counter and frowns. “Why are we all here? There’s not enough space.”

Maul blinks and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make tea.”

“Oh,” he replies then offers him a beaming smile. “Can you make the purple one? Thank you.”

Dogma leaves, humming to himself. Schutta shrugs, going out of the galley, and says, “Yeah, I like the purple one too.”

“So do I,” Stat says from one of the bunkrooms. “Can you make me some too?”

Maul stares at the tea and blinks. He sighs. “Mesh’la?” he shouts. The commander shouts back from the hold. Maul is not sure if he said yes or no so, just in case, he makes tea for everyone.

When he is done, he notices they are all in the ready room. Schutta is making alterations to Stat’s leg while Mesh’la is reading something on his datapad. Dogma is sprawled on the floor, his head resting on the commander’s thigh, eyes closed. He groans and Mesh’la automatically starts petting his hair. Maul would laugh if he didn’t know he reacts _exactly_ the same way at that specific sound. It is a bit terrifying how well Dogma conditioned them without them noticing.

Maul sighs and starts serving them all tea.

“Aw but that’s cassius,” Mesh’la complains. “I don’t like cassius.” He looks at Dogma and asks, “Did you find Chandrilan?”

The _vod_ hums in confirmation. “They only had herbal tea, though.”

“Yeah, that’s alright.”

Maul tilts his head. “Do you want Chandrilan?”

“Oh, no. Cassius is good.”

He stares at his commander for a moment then decides not to say anything. He sits down with his own cup, inhaling it, and enjoys the quiet time with his men. He sees Mesh’la glancing at him but the commander doesn’t say anything, his fingers still playing with Dogma’s short hair. Schutta is so engrossed in his work that his shoulders _finally_ relaxed. He has been tense ever since… Well, ever since they landed on the _Tranquility._

Stat takes his and Schutta’s cups, placing the latter’s on his flesh leg. His eyes slide to Maul and blinks slowly in thanks when he sips his tea. He then rolls his eyes, takes Schutta’s cup and starts poking his lips with it until the sergeant drinks, still focused on his work.

“Yes, good,” Schutta mumbles. “Thanks, _Vod’ika_.”

“I’m not the one who made it,” Dogma says, eyes still closed.

“No but you bought it,” Maul replies, then adds softly, “And you chose well.”

Dogma smiles but says nothing. Maul basks in his happiness. It took him time but he did find tea that suits the _vod’_ s tastes.

“Are you going to tell the Council?” Stat asks. Quiet time is over, then. Mesh’la puts his datapad down silently.

“Of course he is,” Dogma says, straightening up. He glances at Maul. “You are, right?”

Maul sighs. He does not have much of a choice. It does not mean he is happy with it. With any luck, the DRK-1s will find something, a clue pointing them to his former master. However, considering the man was on the planet weeks ago, the chances are low.

Maul has to admit he is a bit annoyed; Master Jon seems to be two steps ahead of them yet he hasn’t tried to contact them. He _knows_ how to contact _Scimitar._ Yet he didn’t. He told Maz that Maul would come and left a girl in her care only for her to die in his arms—and now they learn that he took Demesne with him knowing _exactly_ when and where to find him while they were stuck on a planet that almost drove them all mad.

Well. Perhaps it is wiser to say that Maul is more than annoyed with his old master.

“I have to,” he admits with a bit of reluctance. “I would prefer to wait for the DRK-1s’ report before contacting Master Windu.”

Dogma frowns. “Why?” he asks. Maul feels warmth in his chest but takes great care not to show it. Not long ago, Dogma wouldn’t express anything that could, potentially, be seen as going against Maul’s decisions. He wouldn’t question him, no matter what he said. It feels good to see him relaxed enough that he doesn’t censor himself anymore.

“The Council still thinks his master’s dead,” Mesh’la says. “It’s been, what? Two years now?”

“What?” Dogma looks at Maul, expecting him to say this is some kind of joke.

“He was presumed dead at the beginning of the war during a mission on Queyta,” Maul says, wincing. “I already suspected he wasn’t but only had confirmation when we talked with Maz.”

Dogma blinks, staring at the floor. “I don’t understand,” he says. “Why wouldn’t he tell the Council?”

Maul stays silent, staring at his tea. Mesh’la sucks his teeth.

“Because he doesn’t want to have anything to do with the war,” the commander says. “And he knew Mace Windu would look for Maul instead since he resurfaced.”

“I… did not report to the Council before the war,” he explains. “I was mostly—” He clears his throat. “I mostly let the Force guide me.”

Dogma stares at him for a long time. “Okay,” he says slowly, eventually, and it is obvious he does _not_ understand what Maul means at all.

“They thought he’d been dead for years,” Schutta comments offhandedly. Dogma chokes on his tea. “They made a funeral for you, right?”

Maul bites his lip. “Well, not for _me_ particularly,” he tries. “It was for, um, Jedi who were presumed dead for more or less a decade.”

“A decade?” Dogma exclaims, eyes going wide. “You were dead for an entire _decade_?”

“No, I was still alive.” He takes a slow sip of his tea. “They just… didn’t know it.” He winces. “Technically, I am still dead in the Order’s Archives, I think.”

The _vod_ reels back until he is leaning entirely on Mesh’la’s legs, staring at Maul with a blank look. He doesn't say anything. Stat silently pats his shoulder, squeezing; Dogma doesn't even seem to notice.

“That’s it. You broke him,” the commander says with a shake of his head. “Come on, baby. It’s not _that_ surprising, right?” Dogma stares back at him like Mesh’la just said the most improbable thing ever, which makes the latter grin. “You already knew our _Jetii_ was kind of an oddball, yeah?”

The _vod_ gives a small, unsure shrug and mutters, “Well, yeah but—” he glances at Maul and grimaces. “I was still hoping you were more, er, _conventional_ than General Skywalker.”

Stat bursts out laughing, throwing his head back and thumping on Schutta’s arm. Maul stares at Dogma, eyes wide. 

“That's Dogmaspeak for 'you're weirder than Skywalker’!” the medic exclaims, still laughing, wiping his eyes. “Ah, I love it.”

“What's so funny?” Schutta asks with a frown.

“Oh, General Skywalker's known to be a disaster,” Stat drawls. At Dogma’s offended look, he raises a calming hand. “A _good_ , efficient disaster. But one nonetheless. His strategies are always chaotic but they bring results. When I worked on Kaliida, he was the talk of the station.” He scratches his head. “General Fisto, too, and there was a weird rumour running around about Commander Cody flirting with Grievous.”

“With _who_?” Mesh'la frowns. “You're joking.”

The medic shakes his head. “Just a rumour,” he says. “Apparently he flung himself at him? I don't know. The 212th are an odd lot.”

Maul opens his mouth to speak when a comlink beeps. “That’s mine,” Dogma says, getting up and walking to one of the bunkrooms. “It’s Tup,” he tells them. “I’ll just tell him to—”

“No, take it,” Mesh’la says before anyone else can. “There’s not much to talk about until the DRK-1s come back anyway.” He straightens up. “Leave it open! I don’t want anything suspicious going on in my—” He splutters, brows rising comically. “Did he just lock the door on me?”

Stat starts mocking him good-naturedly and Maul has to dip his head and hide his smile behind his tea. It has been a long time since they were able to simply relax. He wonders, right now, if he should suggest going outside; the DRK-1s won’t be back before dusk and Naboo is very lovely. Stat seems to handle the planet’s gravity more easily and Maul has an inkling Schutta will love the Gungan Swamp. A thought comes to him and suddenly he is filled with dread.

He cannot remember the last time they have been able to relax. Even on Takodana they didn’t take the time.

“ _Alor_?” his medic calls. Maul blinks, eyes sliding to him. Stat is frowning—so are Schutta and Mesh’la. They are all staring at him.

“Apologies,” he replies. “Did you ask me something?”

“Would you like to go outside?” Stat asks with a hopeful look in his eyes. “We saw a clearing earlier with D. It looked nice. There were a couple of shaaks, there.” He shrugs. “If they aren’t domesticated, one could make a nice dinner. You haven’t had fresh meat in a while.”

“I ate soypro last cycle,” he argues then narrows his eyes at his own words. Why is he arguing? He wants to go outside. Stat looks at him with raised eyebrows. “I did,” Maul keeps arguing.

“So you do _not_ want to go outside,” his medic says.

“No—I mean _yes_.” He puts his head in his hands and sighs. His men chuckle.

“You know what, I was thinking of taking a nap there,” Stat says, fiddling with his uppers. “I think you should join me.”

“I think they should all join you,” Schutta mumbles, still tweaking with the cybernetic leg. “No one sleeps in this karking ship.”

“Dogma doesn’t?” Mesh’la asks, getting up. He walks to the airlock. The sergeant shrugs but doesn’t confirm.

They actually don’t end up in the clearing, settling somewhere closer, next to a lake. Mesh’la throws Schutta in it not even five minutes after they arrived. From there, Maul and Stat lose all hopes of having them calm and not fighting each other. The medic shouts about not using medical supplies on them if they hurt each other. It does not seem like they heard him.

After fifteen minutes, Stat quietly asks him to help him out; they take off his leg and he starts kneading his thigh. “My foot hurts,” he says wryly but still shakes his head when Maul raises his hand to soothe him. 

Eventually, his medic falls asleep right besides him. Maul runs his fingers through his hair and tries to find peace in the motion. He doesn’t. His mind keeps going from one thought to another, constantly wondering about the future. He’s been having trouble staying in the present ever since they left Eredenn Prime. He looks at Stat, at the stump now covered by the mag plate keeping his prosthetic in place and he has to focus on the feel of his hair on his fingertips to let go of the anger rising in him. To what purpose did he lose his leg? For a weapon?

It wasn’t worth it—there’s no doubt about that. Stat’s leg is only the physical manifestation of the toll this mission took on all of them. Dogma stopped sleeping again; Maul can hear him exercise in the cargo hold when he is supposed to be in his bunk. Most of the time, Schutta is either nonverbal or refusing to speak Basic and his moods are volatile; he becomes angry quickly and he’s been trying to get on Mesh’la’s nerves more often lately—and it works because the commander is more on edge than usual.

And for what? A weapon supposed to give them an advantage over the Separatists? Since when did war machines become more important than the welfare of all beings?

Maul is undoubtedly unbalanced. He gets angry easily. He does not show it–he became good at concealing his anger at a young age, if only to stop disturbing his crèche-mates–but the feeling invades him nonetheless more often than it ought to. He is also worried. The longer the war stretches, the more worried he grows. He feels he is losing his way. This is perhaps the first time in his life when there is a clear frontier between what he used to be and what he is now—since the war started, his life has completely changed. And there is no doubt in his mind that it is _not_ for the better but, then, it is war so it’s not very surprising. What is truly worrisome is how used he became to things that would have disturbed him before. 

“Sir? Can you come back to the ship, please?”

Instinctively, Maul tenses, taking his comlink in hand. “Should I tell—”

“No,” Dogma says, cutting him off. He sounds on edge. “Just you. Please.”

“Very well,” he replies, putting the comlink back on his bracer. As soon as he is up, Stat opens his eyes and observes him. Maul shakes his head. “Peace,” he says. “I’m just going back to the ship.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I am not sure.” His eyes glance to the direction of _Scimitar._ “He didn’t specify but told me I should come alone.”

Stat nods. “You think he wants to talk?” he asks with a small frown. Maul smiles.

“I think he would’ve asked for you, had it been the case,” he tells him softly. “I must go.”

“Aye. I’ll take care of the _di’kute._ ” He snorts, making a shooing motion with his hand. Maul steps away then turns around.

“Do you want me to help you with—” He stops. He regrets it immediately but what is done is done. Maul is making things worse. Not saying what he should out loud. Looking for euphemisms and understatements. Avoiding at all costs to broach this particular subject.

Of course, Stat lets him get away with it. “No,” he tells him softly. “Go. I’m good right now. I’ll ask Schutta.”

Maul nods softly, silently grateful, and makes for _Scimitar._ He can sense the _vod_ is tense even before he sees him. He is not surprised to find him waiting in front of the cloaked ship. When Dogma notices him, his face morphs; the mask drops and there is only worry on his face. Maul doesn’t hesitate—he quickens his pace and takes the _vod’_ s hands in his. 

“What is wrong?” he asks in a whisper, head tilting to the side. Dogma’s eyes shift to his left; he takes a quick breath then closes his mouth, staying silent. Maul points to the ship with his chin. “Let’s go inside,” he says.

Dogma follows him silently. Maul hesitates; should they stay in the ready room? From what he can sense, the _vod_ isn’t comfortable here and perhaps he is wrong but he thinks the bunkrooms would not be better. They take the lift. Somehow, Dogma twitches less once the doors close.

Maul leads him to the holopod and invites him to sit beside him. “Talk to me, _tat’eki,_ ” he croons, taking his hands once again. Dogma squeezes them but averts his gaze.

“It’s Commander Tano,” he mutters. “She left.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> \- ret'urcye mhi: goodbye, lit. maybe we’ll meet again  
> \- vaar'ika: pipsqueak, runt  
> \- shi: just, only  
> \- tat’eki ⇔ vod’ika  
> (I'm an idiot I forgot to put the translations in the notes aszslkads)
> 
> Today, full action-packed content with nonstop intensity; this is Fast & Furious, maulrex edition (I think. I have no idea actually I never watched any) love their lack of energy, go girls give us nothing!  
> In unrelated news, the maulrex tag is officially two pages now on ao3 and there are fics in there that I haven't read yet!! *clenches fist* VINDICATIONNNN
> 
> And most importantly, Sunja made art inspired by the “Senator Amidala” scene in chapter 17 [look at it i love it](https://nevermindigotthis.tumblr.com/post/631618527051317248/its-beach-on-murkhana-time-again-i-laughed-out)!!!!!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [eeeeeee look at this!! Sunja made art it's maul and rex it's so cute I'm aslk;df](https://nevermindigotthis.tumblr.com/post/632498826993909760/more-beach-on-murkhana-by-murkhana-fan-art)

“You couldn’t take the lift like everyone else?” Rex hears behind him. Maul rolls his eyes.

“You’re just jealous,” the Jedi retorts. Rex turns back in time to see Commander Mesh’la grin.

“Of course I am,” he says with a huff, coming out of _Scimitar._ “I want the cool free falls too.” He throws him his comlink. “Is there chocolate in there?”

“It’s for Stat,” Maul replies. The commander nods silently. “You decided to come out?”

“Eh, I don’t have a choice—Mace Windu keeps comming the ship.” He makes a gesture at Rex. “Hand them to me, captain; I’ll go to the medbay while you head to the bridge.”

“You aren’t coming with us? I think the Council wants to talk to you as well,” the Jedi says. He receives a shrug. “Tell him it’s from Fangs. CT-20-1027.”

“Who’s that?”

“A former Mud Jumper.” 

“Alright.” The Commander nods. “See you on the bridge. Don’t start a fight without me, eh?” He takes the containers and leaves with a slight wave. The Jedi huffs, rolling his eyes. Rex’s eyebrows raise at that but he doesn’t say anything. 

In the corridors, the men all stare at Maul, even if they try to act like they aren’t. It doesn’t seem to faze him. Rex tries not to frown. Even with General Skywalker he doesn’t get so many stares. 

“What happened on the bridge?” he mutters when they step inside the lift. The Jedi grimaces. “Senator.”

“I was summoned and—” He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “There was a debate on the best course of action,” he mumbles. “I may have overreacted.”

“You overreacted,” he repeats. There’s an itch at the back of his neck, the underlying feeling that _overreacted_ could even be an understatement. The Jedi nods in confirmation but stays suspiciously silent. Rex stops himself from sighing. “What do you mean by ‘overreacted’? Did you start a fight?”

“Perhaps,” he admits, grimacing. They step outside the lift. “In my defence, they left me no choice.”

General Unduli is waiting for them—her eyebrows raise at Maul’s words. “Did we,” she says wryly. The other winces. “Rear Admiral Tenant is on the bridge. Shall I expect another altercation?”

Besides Rex, the Jedi stills. He can’t help but tense. “It depends,” Maul says in a low mutter, eyes glancing towards the man. “Did he call the longnecks again?”

General Unduli’s eyes widen. “ _Maul_ ,” she sneers in a whisper, taking a step closer. The way she says it makes it sound like it’s not unusual. Considering what Maul told him, Rex wonders how many times she had to chastise him for something he shouldn’t have done, despite the fact that she doesn’t seem that much older than he is. “You cannot call the Kaminoans like this. It is _offensive._ ”

Maul huffs, folding his hands into his sleeves. “Oh but planning to take _my_ medic without informing me _wasn’t_?” he sneers back. Rex has the growing feeling that he should get out of here as soon as he can. “We do not need Nala Se’s assistance—the faster Tenant understands this the better. He has no say over Stat and if he tries to pull something like this again—”

She cuts him off with an exasperated scoff. “What are you going to do? You’ll draw your staff on him again?”

“Why not,” he mumbles, averting his gaze.

“Violence is _not_ the Jedi way, Maul,” the General says with a frown. “Do you even realise how reckless you were? Assaulting a Rear Admiral on the bridge of a Star Destroyer?”

“Please.” He snorts. “I didn’t even ignite my staff; I merely called it to my hand.”

She stares silently for a long moment. “You haven’t changed,” she mutters wryly with a disapproving shake of her head. Rex didn’t even know she could look this exasperated by someone. “Master Antilles did not take the stubbornness out of you, did he?”

“No,” Maul confirms. “He was rather stubborn himself.”

General Unduli sighs heavily. Her eyes go to Rex apologetically. “He wasn’t too difficult to manage, I hope,” she says.

“Er—No, sir.” He hasn’t felt _this_ awkward since Christophsis at least, when he tried to make conversation with a Jedi youngling turned Commander. “Not too much,” he adds in afterthought. He shifts. “I think the Rear Admiral is waiting for us.”

Maul shrugs nonchalantly. “Oh, he can wait a bit longer, I think,” he comments dryly. 

The General glares at him then looks at Rex with a soft smile. “Of course, captain,” she says.

As soon as they step onto the bridge, the mood shifts. He doesn’t need to be Force sensitive to feel how tense everyone becomes. The brothers on shift don’t really look at them but Rex can’t help but notice that they always unconsciously keep Maul in their peripheral vision if they can. He tries not to dwell too much on it but it’s not really surprising if he almost fought with the Rear Admiral right in the middle on the main bridge of a Star Destroyer. A small part of Rex is disappointed that he’ll never get to see it. A bigger part is immensely grateful because he does _not_ know how he’d have reacted.

The holograms appear almost as soon as they gather around the holotable. The Rear Admiral has been strategically placed after Gree, leaving General Unduli and Rex between him and Maul. He is a bit surprised—only High Generals Windu and Yoda are present. He was expecting the full council. 

“Where is your commander?” General Windu asks without preamble, glaring at Maul. Beside him, the man addressed doesn’t seem very fazed.

“He’s coming, master,” Maul replies smoothly.

The Jedi is asked to recollect what happened to his squad. It becomes quickly evident that he remembers as much as Rex—which is to say not much. His memories are few and there’re a lot of gaps that can’t be explained by Rex’s own recollection of things. If they’re lucky, Mesh’la’s side will be more helpful but, since even a Jedi can’t remember being there for an entire month, the chances are low.

The commander shows up six minutes late. He nods sharply at the High Generals and stays silent. 

“One thing is certain—we must talk to Aodh Demesne,” is the first thing he says, when Maul tells them he does not remember what happened before Reeva Demesne shot him. “Because if he didn’t lie to us, something doesn’t add up.”

General Windu glances at General Yoda silently. When the latter nods, the former sighs. “We lost contact with his transport ship over the Farstine system,” he says. “One week after you took off for Eredenn.”

Commander Mesh’la bangs his fist on the table in frustration, startling Rex and Gree. “ _Chakaaryc hut’uun,_ ” he growls. “That _sleemo_ is the reason we got stuck there in the first place.”

General Yoda taps his cane on the ground. “Mesh’la. Calm your mind, you must,” he says with a slight frown. “Rush not into fights. Long is the war. Only by surviving it, will you prevail.” The commander sighs heavily but nods silently. “Knight Maul,” the General calls.

“Yes, Master?”

“Aodh Demesne, your problem he is not,” he states. “With me, Master Windu agrees.” General Windu nods. “Other issues at stakes, there are.”

Maul glances silently at Commander Mesh’la. “I do not understand, Masters,” he says slowly. “We already dealt with Demesne in the past and we were the ones sent to Eredenn Prime.” The Commander straightens. Rex guesses he’ll back up the Jedi if need be. “I fail to see how sending another team after hi—”

“You’re too close to this,” General Windu says, cutting him off. Maul shuts his mouth and stiffens.

“I agree,” General Unduli says softly. “You cannot let your emotions cloud your judgement, Maul.”

Whereas Mesh’la stiffens even more, the Jedi backs down. “Very well, Masters,” he says.

Rex frowns. He can’t say why but it just doesn’t _feel_ right to see him admit defeat so quickly. General Skywalker would’ve pushed forward if he were in his place. Is this how other _Jetiise_ interact with their Council? He knows, in a sense, that his General is a bit of a special case but he thought Maul would be similar in this aspect.

After that, both he and Mesh’la are asked to debrief and there’s clearly a repeating pattern—none of them remembers more than a couple of days and they’ve no idea _why_ they did some of the stuff they did. There’s a temple and a crater somehow related and Demesne turned on them at the last minute but, other than that, not a lot makes sense. When the High Generals determine the debriefing done, Maul and General Unduli bow while the brothers salute. The Rear Admiral stayed silent throughout the whole ordeal.

Rex glances at Maul, who is looking at the star chart, hands on the holotable, leaning closer. His eyes roam over the hologram and suddenly widen. “He’s on Naboo,” he says with certainty. General Unduli tilts her head.

“What makes you say that?” she asks. She doesn’t seem to question his statement.

“He mentioned it when I first met him,” he mutters, still entranced by the map. “Told me I’d look good lying on Cyrene silk sheets.”

Rex stops himself from closing his eyes and bites his tongue harshly. He can’t… He mentally disassembles his Deeces, then reassembles them, focusing on _not_ thinking about something else. General Unduli stares at Maul with a dumbstruck look. Commander Mesh’la stays silent. His pauldrons are shaking.

For ten agonizing seconds, the whole bridge is silent.

It takes him a while but Maul blinks then looks around him with a confused turn of his mouth. “What did I say?” he asks. The commander takes a step back and turns around, shoulders still faintly shaking. Hmm. He’s still silent. There’s no way his helmet’s external comm is activated—and Rex _knows_ that _chakaar_ is laughing.

“You… mentioned his flirting?” the General replies with a polite nod. Rex is impressed. The Rear Admiral still looks a bit red but he’s recovered at least.

“Yes,” Maul confirms, blinking. “It’s why I remember him mentioning Naboo.”

“Because he flirted with you?” Rear Admiral Tenant retorts with a snort. The Jedi rolls his eyes.

“Because he was waging how much he could get away with.” He sighs heavily then straightens, his hand going to his hip and resting there. Such a simple gesture but the Rear Admiral stiffens immediately and, with him, all the people on the bridge. Even Mesh’la stops laughing, suddenly deadly still. “I could feel something was wrong but I never thought it would be his relation to Reeva Demesne,” Maul continues, either entirely unaware of the shifting mood or just uncaring. Both could be true, Rex guesses.

“Maul,” the General says, curling her hand around his elbow. His eyes slide to hers and he ducks his chin slightly. Rex can’t help glancing at Mesh’la—the Commander is good but Rex saw Alpha seething _once_ and he holds himself up _exactly_ like the brother does right now. 

“I take it the debriefing is over, then?” the Rear Admiral says. Maul glares at him.

“Yes, sir,” Gree replies, focusing the attention on him.

Once they’re dismissed, Rex is actually surprised by the way Maul and Mesh’la interact; he thought they’d stay together but, as soon as the Jedi tried to talk to him, the Commander signed something Rex doesn’t understand and walked away, leaving Maul staring at him with surprise written all over his features.

He checks his chrono; Fives should be sleeping right now and he’s not worried about Jesse wandering around on his own. Echo will comm him as soon as he’s up and Tup was alright. The wisest thing would be to go to Gree’s quarters and sleep. The problem is Rex is too wired to get some actual shut eye.

When he sees Maul walking towards him, he bites his tongue again. He can’t think about what he said earlier. He can’t think about the Cyrene silk sheets. He can’t th—

The Jedi’s steps falter; he seems to ponder something for a moment then nods shortly to himself, glancing back at him. “Can I interest you in a spar, captain?” he asks, as if this was something they did all the time. Rex freezes for a short instant. He raises his mental shields, softly, almost as an afterthought, even if he already _knows_ he raised them as soon as he walked to Stat’s bed and saw Maul. It’s funny; he wasn’t really self-conscious about them when Gree and Cody interrogated him but now it’s just sitting at the back of his mind like a constant reminder. Even with General Skywalker and Commander Tano he isn’t aware of his shields as much.

“Sure,” Rex hears himself say and he has no idea why he said that. The Jedi seems as surprised as he feels; his eyes widen for a second but a smile graces his features and suddenly nothing else seems really important. Rex’s joints and muscles ache; he hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours since they landed on the Destroyer and he _should_ rest but it doesn’t really matter right now. Sparring sounds good.

“I think I found the perfect spot,” Maul says, leading him away, and Rex doesn’t even think before he follows him.

“What’s the matter with Rear Admiral Tenant?” Rex can’t stop himself from asking after a couple of minutes spent in silence, once they are on a lower level. Maul sighs heavily.

“He’s a bigot,” he says. “I don’t like him.”

Rex’s eyebrows raise. He’s got his bucket on so he’s good. “What makes you say that?” he genuinely asks once they step into some kind of large training room. The benches are busy right now, so are the sparring mats and he doesn’t know how to say it out loud but he’s not sure they should spar here considering the number of brothers and natborns there are. A clone captain from another battalion sparring with a Jedi who rattled everyone a couple of hours ago may not send a good message here.

The Jedi looks around them and grimaces. “A crew is often a reflection of their captain,” he says. “Have you noticed how the men interact with each other? More particularly the way natborns interact with clones?”

Rex stops himself from smiling at the use of ‘natborns’. He lets his eyes sweep over the room. He didn’t really take notice of it earlier but… “They don’t,” he says, frowning slightly. The natborns stay between themselves and there’s a silent but clear hierarchy—the clones, officers or not, are at the bottom of the chain.

“My entire life I’ve dealt with people full of prejudices and unwilling to change their opinions.” Maul huffs. “I am done playing pretend and I don’t like him.”

“I thought the Jedi loved everybody,” Rex mutters. Maul chuckles warmly.

“Mmh, perhaps you are right,” he says, eyes glowing with mirth. “This way.”

Maul leads him to another room—smaller, definitely smaller, but empty. From what he can guess, it’s probably reserved for sims. For a moment, Rex wonders if he should take his shell off or not but, when the Jedi discards his cloak and most of his layers, he thinks he got his answer. 

The rules are simple and straightforward: five-second pin, no weapon, no use of the Force. Rex raises an eyebrow at the five-second limit, more used to ten, but shrugs in agreement.

He doesn’t expect Maul pinning him in less than ten seconds; Rex doesn’t even have the time to understand what is happening before the Jedi releases him. “Ten second limit?” he has the audacity to ask with a cocky tilt of his head.

“Alright,” Rex says, accepting his hand and letting himself be pulled up. “Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes him three pins but he blurts out, “You trained with Mesh’la, didn’t you?” He has the sharpness all the Alpha-class share and, even if it is more subtle, he _is_ ruthless.

Maul grins, taking off his undershirt and discarding it next to his clothes. “I learned a couple of tricks from him,” he admits. “But most of what I know, I learned from a Protector, actually.”

Rex’s eyes widen. A Mandalorian Protector— _that_ would explain why he speaks Concordian. Even the ones guarding the Duchess still do since all the Protectors come from the Concord Dawn system or were trained there.

“Huh,” he says, not bothering to hide how impressed he is. “I guess I won’t pull my punches so much, then.”

“Oh? You were? I didn’t notice.”

Ah, that’s cheeky. If he were one of his ARCs, Rex would have wiped that smile off his face quickly.

It’s not an easy feat but he _finally_ pins the Jedi to the ground, taking gleeful delight in counting out loud. “Eight, nine, ten,” he rumbles, while Maul tries to push him off his back. As soon as the countdown is over, the Jedi slumps back down. Rex grins. “Are you having trouble keeping up now, senator?”

“Oh, please—I’m four to one.”

“You’re counting, uh?” Rex chuckles, releasing him. Maul rolls over and gives him a defiant look.

“You aren’t?”

For a long while, Rex forgets about everything else. Maul pins him twice but, now that he analyzed the Jedi’s sparring techniques, it becomes more a question of _how_ to pin him. He does—once, twice, three times and he keeps pinning him until he’s ten to six. They’re both sweaty now and he knows he’s going to feel it tomorrow but Rex can’t stop grinning. He hasn’t had this much fun in a while. He gets up again and pounces as soon as the Jedi is ready.

Rex thinks he has him–so it’s going to be _eleven_ to six now–but Maul flips them and suddenly he’s flat on the mats, wrists blocked on each side and the Jedi sits back on his stomach in victory and laughs. His chest vibrates with it, his whole body leans back with the motion and Rex can see the expanse of skin, his tattooed neck left entirely vulnerable, the way his abs tense and, _fierfek,_ suddenly Rex can’t breathe. He imagines getting his hands out, letting them wander over the Jedi’s clenched thighs, settling on his hips then going higher, over his stomach, squeezing his chest, his shoulders then trailing down his ribs, going lower, lower, taking his hips in hands and pushing him lower on Rex’s body, until he can thrust up and—

Ten seconds. Maul stops laughing and releases a breath, a sigh of clean victory, and there’s a single droplet of sweat running from his neck to his chest. He opens his eyes and looks at him like a predator gazing at its prey, full of lazy satisfaction, smiling with all his teeth.

The droplet settles on his abs. All coherent thoughts escape Rex. All he can think about is that he wants to _lick it._ His blood goes straight down to load his blaster.

“Yield,” Maul rumbles and, if he were a Seppie, Rex would give him all the intel he wants if it meant Maul would ride him right here, right now. “Tap out, Captain,” he says with anticipation. Rex can’t. Even if he wanted to, he can’t; Maul is still holding his wrists. He gets it, all of a sudden—he _can’t_ tap out. He’s not supposed to.

“I yield,” he says and he hopes the Jedi can’t hear how rough he sounds. Maul releases him and lets out a rumbling sound in satisfaction. Rex isn’t sure he does it consciously; it sounds instinctive more than anything else, a deep, muted growl coming from his chest. He wonders if Maul would let sounds and sighs escape like that if they were—

A thought, unprompted, comes to his mind; he imagines Maul, gloriously riding him, holding himself up on trembling thighs, clenching around him and moaning shamelessly, glowing eyes staring at him with hunger and lust, eager fingers leading Rex's hands to tattooed hips rocking in a slow, tortuous rhythm—then Maul pushing him against the wall, rumbling words he doesn’t understand in his ear, kriffing him hard and fast into oblivion, possessive hands clutching at his body and teeth grazing the side of his neck, turning Rex into an incoherent mess until nothing but the sound of Maul's voice makes sense.

The Jedi gets up and Rex feels like he’s being thrown into the icy waters of Kamino. His thoughts come down on him, making his whole body tense and he realizes with untamed horror that he could have projected them—and he didn’t even stop once he got what was happening. _Kriff._ He’s been on the verge of humping a _kriffing Jetii_ just because he got all charged up by a sparring session.

Rex has _never_ been more grateful for Alpha’s training. He can't even imagine how karked up the situation would be if he didn't have his shields raised.

“Are you alright, Captain?” Maul intones, tilting his head in worry and _Sithspit a head tilt has no business being this attractive._ The Jedi extends a hand but, before he can think about it, Rex gets up on his own and takes two steps back.

“Yes, I—yes,” he says very intelligently and proceeds to turn away and head to the closest ‘fresher like a coward, completely uncaring of protocol or anything else. He doesn’t turn back when he hears Maul calling after him but he can clearly imagine the look of confusion on the Jedi’s face.

What a karking idiot. How stupid could Rex be? Fierfek, what the kriff is wrong with him?

He lets his back thump against the wall and sits down for a while, trying to get a grip on his own body. In and out. In and out. He needs to calm down. In and out. Breathe. In and out. It takes him a couple of tries but Rex eventually succeeds—he takes a deep breath and stands back up. His armor is still there. He closes his eyes, readying himself, and steps out of the ‘fresher.

The Jedi is stretching when he comes back–of _course_ he is–so he has to avert his gaze. 

“I must apologise, Captain,” Maul says, making him glance back up. Rex frowns. 

“For what?”

The Jedi walks towards him but stops abruptly. “I overstepped the bounds of acceptable behaviour,” he says, hands behind his back. “I should have caught your distress earlier on.”

“What?” he hears himself say, heart hammering in his ear. He swallows, taking a step back. “You—” Kark. _Kark._ Did he—could he sense what Rex was thinking?

“It is in no way a valid reason but I could not feel it before it was too late because your shields are strong,” he says, averting his gaze. He shakes his head. “I should have reacted before nonetheless. I let emotions cloud my judgement and did not realise I was putting you in a precarious position.”

“What,” Rex says again, feeling more and more confused as Maul speaks.

“I need you to know I would never willingly cause distress in another being for personal gains,” he continues. “I should have released you after ten seconds. It was unfair and cruel of me to taunt you.”

Rex stares at the Jedi silently, feeling like they are having two entirely different conversations. Maul stares but eventually his eyes slide to the ground.

“I am sorry, Captain,” he tells him, then steps away, putting distance between them. Rex’s hands twitch but he’s rooted to the spot, mind racing and body taut with adrenaline. He watches the Jedi leave and can’t make himself open his mouth.

But Maul falters; he gasps before opening the door and puts a hand on his chest, staring at the ground, then he drops down like he can’t keep himself up. Rex blinks, shaking himself off his stupor, and rushes to him.

“Sir—Are you alright?” he asks but Maul doesn’t react; he doesn’t even seem to realize Rex is right next to him. For a long moment, the Jedi is silent. His mouth stays open, almost as if trying to find air. Rex panics. “Sir,” he says, shaking his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

A single tear runs down his cheek. He seems entirely unaware of it, face frozen in shock.

“I—I felt it,” he whispers faintly, staring at his hands with wide eyes. “I—”

There’s so much sadness in a single syllable, so much despair that Rex doesn’t even think; he crouches down next to him and puts his hands on his shoulders. “Maul,” Rex calls, shaking him softly, trying to get his attention. “Maul,” he repeats. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The Jedi takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

“Feral Opress is dead.”

*

At first, Maul only blinks, confused. He knows who Dogma is referring to—Ahsoka Tano, Padawan to Knight Skywalker, someone the Captain holds in high esteem–but he does not understand what he means by “left”. It’s unlike Dogma to use euphemisms if she died; no, he would have said it as it is. “Left?” he repeats.

Dogma nods then sighs heavily. “Yeah. She, er—she left the Jedi Order.”

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. Surprising. Or perhaps not. From what he could gather, she started her Padawanship at the beginning of the war; considering this, is it truly surprising that she lost faith in the Order? “I gather she isn’t a Commander in the GAR anymore.”

“No,” Dogma confirms. “Tup was shaken.” His jaw clenches. “I think all of Torrent is; we’re usually the closest to Command since we’re Captain Rex’s.” He falls silent. Maul leans closer.

“There is something else,” he whispers, trying to gain eye contact. Dogma nods. He is hesitating. “What is it? You can tell me, _tat’eki_.”

The _vod_ takes a deep breath. “There was a bombing at the Temple,” he says. “It hap—”

“When?” Maul asks, eyes widening. “Were there—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he cuts him off softly. “I don’t know the victims’ names. All I know is Commander Tano was wrongfully accused of perpetrating it. The Order cast her out but asked her back when her name was cleared.” He grimaces. “She refused.”

Maul wills his hearts to slow down. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ He acknowledges his fear, his anger and his rage then lets go of them. “Who did this?” he asks, voice calm and composed. The _vod_ is reluctant to say. “Dogma—do you know who did this?”

He shifts, eyes gazing at the floor. “Commander Offee,” he mutters.

Horror shakes Maul to the core. “Barriss Offee?” He blinks, spluttering. A Jedi did it? “Why would she do this?” He does not understand. How could she possibly do this?

Oh, Luminara. Maul isn’t self-centered enough to think that he could have changed things had he talked to her about what he suspected but… He should have said something. At least, _imply_ something. He just didn't realise how deep it went; he could sense Luminara’s Padawan was struggling but to the point of bombing the Temple? 

Luminara should be in the middle of her campaign. Does she know? Should he comm her? Would she even want him to? Mind reeling, he stays frozen until Dogma sighs heavily. Maul blinks, letting go of his worries and focuses on him.

“Were you close to Ahsoka Tano?” he asks, squeezing his hands. The _vod_ shakes his head.

“Not really, no,” he mutters. “I was… almost a shiny when we were sent to—”

When he sees him struggling to finish his sentence, Maul says, “I understand. You told me Tup was shaken—do you know how the others are faring?”

“He was with Fives and Echo,” he recollects. He isn’t looking at Maul, eyes still on the ground but staring into space. “I don’t know about the others. They’re on leave, though, for the rest of the week.”

When he tugs him closer, Dogma comes willingly; his hands automatically grip his tunic and he releases a shaky breath. Maul puts his chin against his forehead and closes his eyes. “Where are they?” he mutters.

“Coruscant,” he says. 

Of course they are. Well—Maul hasn’t been so close to the Core Worlds in decades; why back away now? From Naboo, if they jump to the Duros Space Run, they’ll be able to join the Corellian easily. It should only take them a cycle to arrive at Coruscant. He can’t say this is how he planned his first visit to the Temple–although, if he were truly honest, he did not plan one _at all–_ but they need a reprieve and the planet’s gravity will be easier on Stat’s leg.

Maul has little to no hope of finding something about his old master. He has full faith in the DRK-1s’ capabilities but too much time has passed since he left Naboo. He expects they will have nothing of importance to share with them come dusk. 

“Let’s go outside,” he suggests. The fresh air may soothe Dogma and he needs to submit the idea to his men. The _vod_ nods mutely but doesn’t move. Maul doesn’t try to urge him—rather, he keeps his eyes closed and enjoys the quiet time he can have with him before they inevitably get caught in Mesh’la and Schutta’s shenanigans. 

Of course, they can hear them before they even see them. Maul and Dogma look at each other and shrug.

“ _Jate_?” Stat asks, still laying down on the grass, completely uncaring of the mayhem the other two are making. Dogma lies down besides him, staring at the blue sky, knocking their heads softly together. “Oi, _vod._ Spill.”

Maul sits besides them and, before Dogma can talk, says, “We need a break.”

Stat observes him silently for a while. The swirl of emotions he senses from his medic is muted, guarded without outright denying him access. “Aye, we do,” he confirms with a nod. “What about it?” They hear a shout. “Oh, kark. I’ve had enough of them.”

Schutta comes running towards them at full speed; Maul’s eyes widen when he realises where he is heading. “No, no—”

“I’m cold!” the Sergeant yells, flinging himself at him; Maul braces himself for impact and hisses when the _vod_ lands straight on his chest and forces him to put his arms around him. He growls, teeth chattering. “I hate the wind!”

“You are _drenched,_ ” Maul complains, already feeling his clothes getting soaked through. He sighs when he feels Schutta shiver and resigns himself to his newly wet state, putting his chin on the crown of the _vod’_ s head and his arms around his shaking frame. “You should have stopped earlier.”

“He started it,” Schutta mutters, as if it makes for a good explanation. “ _Me’bana_?”

“Mesh’la!” Stat calls loudly, making Dogma wince. He runs his knuckles on his arm in apology. “Get in here!”

The Commander walks to them at a leisurely pace, takes a quick glance at Dogma and proceeds to lie down on him with a wide grin. The _vod_ yelps and tries to push him away—to no avail. “You’re wet!” he yells.

“Aw, for you, baby? Always.”

“Mesh’la,” Maul says with warning in his tone, ignoring Schutta’s loud sigh of frustration when he shifts to better see his commander, letting cold air pass between them. “Behave.”

“But I don’t want to get mud on me,” he whines. After a particularly vicious pinch, he rolls on the grass, grumbling. “What’s going on?”

Maul looks around him and stops himself from reacting. They are all watching him, waiting for him to say something.

It doesn’t take much to convince them. He doesn’t even need to convince them at all. Once the DRK-1s come back, the ship is already prepped. They unsurprisingly have nothing of value to report. They set a course for New Cov; Maul makes the jump with Dogma softly talking with Jesse at the holopod. 

“Hi, sir,” the _vod_ says when Maul asks Dogma to wake him up before they jump to sublight.

“Hello, Jesse,” he replies with a smile. “How are you?”

Rather than reply with a phatic answer, the _vod_ considers the question carefully. “I’m okay,” he says roughly with a frown. He chuckles with no humour behind it. “Leave’s right on time.”

“We will be here in one cycle,” he says. “If it may help.”

Jesse looks at his brother and his smile widens.

Maul tells Dogma to go as soon as they land. “I think we can survive on our own, _tat,_ ” he tells him after five minutes of reluctant arguing. “Go. Or else Mesh’la will come with you.”

The _vod_ is out in less than a minute.

Maul is reluctant to go outside. They decided to dock with the civilians, far enough from the GAR and the Temple, on one of the lower levels. “We’re going to 79’s,” Schutta informs him. “Stat says it’s nice. Come with us.” His Sergeant sighs even before he can open his mouth. “ _Alor,_ ” he whines. His tone is as good as Mesh’la’s. Maul twitches.

“I—tomorrow?” He grimaces when he sees his face fall. “Just—I need time.”

Schutta frowns at him. “Alright,” he says after a moment spent in silence. “You’ll keep an eye on _Vod’ika,_ yeah?”

“I don’t think he needs me to keep an eye on him,” he reminds him. The Sergeant grins with all his teeth but doesn’t say anything. 

Maul cannot stay focused. He cannot meditate. He grows restless inside _Scimitar._ It takes more time than it ought to but he decides to put on undercover clothes. It is well into the night when he actually goes outside.

It occurs to him, as he walks down the streets of the ecumenopolis, that he really prefers Nal Hutta. He does not know how he is supposed to feel about this.

At first, when he senses him, Maul thinks he is mistaken. He is far from the barracks used by Torrent and there is no reason for him to be here. This level has nothing to offer; it is rundown and unfortunately reminiscent of every city where the rich live above the poor. But Maul walks closer, letting the Force guide him, and his steps falter when he sees him.

What is the captain doing here? Why is he dressed like this?

He approaches him slowly, taking off his hood but leaving the scarf around his face. As soon as the captain sees him, he freezes. Maul nods at him discreetly but stops advancing, just in case. He expects him to ignore him, perhaps, or even to alert him that his presence is unwanted or compromising—but the captain walks to him assuredly then quickly pulls him into a dark alley. Once they are out of sight, he takes his hood off and frowns.

“Hello, captain,” Maul says, pushing the scarf away. “It is good to see you.”

“Senator? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to stretch my legs,” Maul replies, feeling awkward. It’s only been a couple of weeks but it feels like he hasn’t seen him for more than that. Rex looks deeply exhausted. His hair appears to be longer—not enough to curl but enough to feel a bit rougher than Schutta’s beginning of a fuzz if he passes his fingers through it. Maul straightens, putting his hands behind his back.

“No, I mean—what are you doing _here_ on Coruscant?”

Ah. Jesse didn’t tell him, then. Well. They never told him he should. Perhaps he thought the captain already knew or that he was not supposed to know himself.

“We are on leave?” he says and hears how unsure he sounds. He grins to hide his embarrassment. “I think the planet is big enough for all of our men, don’t you think?”

The captain huffs but a shy smile graces his features. Maul feels compelled to speak again. “Are you busy right now?”

“Er—no. No, I’m not,” he replies, shifting, then clears his throat. Maul would like to ask him what he is doing here then but he can sense the question would not be welcomed. “Why?”

He has an idea coming at the foreground of his mind. The worst that can happen is the captain saying no. It wouldn’t be surprising. He is probably going to say no. Perhaps Maul shouldn’t ask. He takes a step forward to shake the nervousness off him and mutters, “Would you like to have a drink.”

Rex says yes.

When Maul suggests 79’s, the captain winces. They end up in a cantina on another level—one catered to a quieter crowd than the ones from the levels above, where the skies are visible. They sit in a corner where all exits are on sight and where they can easily find cover if needed. When he asks what the captain would like to drink, he says, “Whatever you’re having.”

“Are you sure?” he asks with a wide smile. The other man’s eyes narrow.

“Can I drink it?” He frowns. Maul stays silent, letting him come to conclusions of his own. “Humans shouldn’t drink it.”

“They shouldn’t,” he confirms. “But I have another one in mind if you want.”

He orders two Bespin Fizz. The captain stares at the glasses with raised eyebrows. To say he looks highly skeptical would be an understatement. “It _is_ good,” he assures him. “Trust me, it is.”

Rex likes it. Maul cannot stop himself from grinning.

The conversation flows easily, just like it did on the _Tranquility._ It feels… _good_ to be able to talk with someone like the captain. His mind is fascinating. He is fascinating. Every little reaction Maul expects is switched with one he does not; Rex is constantly a surprise yet he also brings a sense of familiarity that reassures him.

He is also very, very beautiful.

Maul blinks. Slowly. Slower than usual. He glances at the table. There are three empty glasses in front of him and a fourth that is half full. The same amount of glasses stands in front of Rex. He hums in surprise. The alcohol content in these drinks is _much_ higher than the one Demesne mixed for him. His eyes slide back to the man in front of him; he is speaking. Maul has no idea what he is talking about.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” Rex asks with a wide grin. Maul smiles back.

“No,” he admits freely. He bites his lower lip when he realises how impolite it was of him. He tries to make up for it. “But it seemed interesting.”

The captain laughs, ducking his chin; he puts a hand over his mouth and Maul tilts his head at the gesture. It should be a crime to hide such a nice smile.

“I like it when you laugh,” he hears himself saying. Rex freezes, looking at him with wide eyes. “It suits you.” He puts his elbow on the table and holds his chin on his closed fist. He is swinging a bit too much. He laughs, although he is not exactly sure why. He… may be a bit impaired. He takes another sip of his drink. It is really good. He blinks slowly, looking down at his knees. These are not his knees; they’re backwards. Not… not attached to… To him. He hums in confusion. Force, he thinks he is drunk. He looks around him. It spins a little. Oh. Not… a little. A lot. It spins a lot. His eyes slide back to—

Was Rex this close before?

When he sees him stiffen, Maul takes in a sharp breath. Hmm. It… it smells good. Like food. Where— “I’m hungry,” he says. Ah, yes, the table over there has… food.

“You are?” the captain asks roughly. Maul grins at him.

“Yes,” he informs him, nodding emphatically. It feels… nice to move. He closes his eyes and nods with the music. “I am very yes.”

“Senator,” Rex mutters. Maul hums. “If I go order us some food, are you going to stay here?”

He tilts his head. He puts his hand back on the table to stop himself from leaning too much on the side. “Yes,” he says with confusion. Why would he… leave food? “I’m hungry,” he reminds him.

Rex bites his lip. Why does he stop himself from smiling? “What,” he says, wanting to know why.

“Did you ever drink those things before?” the captain asks with a muted laugh.

“One,” Maul says, pointing at the one with… Oh. They are all empty. He waves his finger at them. “On Nal Hutta.”

“Stay here, alright?” Rex asks and Maul smiles. He looks around. The people are happy here. He likes… people. Happy people. He observes the captain walking away. He closes his eyes and hums along with the music.

“You like Bespin Fizz?” someone asks him. He turns his head towards them and grins.

“Yes,” he says with a laugh. He looks at them; the Iridonian laughs with him.

“I’m Rith,” she says. “What’s your name?”

He tilts his head. “Does it matter?” She laughs again. He grins.

“Where are you from?” she asks. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“Dathomir,” he informs her, trailing on the last syllable until he is perfectly sure.

“Dathomir?” she repeats. “Where’s that?”

“Space.” 

She nods. “The one with you,” she says. “You know him?”

“Yes,” he says with a tilt of his head. Why? “Why?” he repeats.

“You drank a lot of those,” she says, pointing at the empty glasses. “You know they hit us harder than Humans, right?”

“What about Mirialans?” he asks. She chuckles.

“It’s got other perks for them,” she tells him. He nods slowly even if he doesn’t understand what she means. “You sure you know him, then?”

“Yes,” he repeats. Maybe she does not understand Basic well. “ _Elek. Oysh. Tagwa._ ”

“ _Eh_ ,” she replies. “ _Uba naga wateela_? Water?”

“Hey,” the captain says once he reaches their table. Maul perks up. Food. On a plate. Hmm. “Everything okay?”

“I’m hungry,” he says. Rex hands him the plate then decides to put it in front of him. He gives him another drink. “Yes.” It isn’t Bespin Fizz. He pushes it away. “No.”

“Yes,” Rex says, pushing the glass back into his hand. “It’s water. Drink.” Maul goes for the food but the plate is snatched away. He whines. “ _Ke’piru, alor._ ”

“ _Jate,_ ” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. Bad idea. He winces. “ _Dinu ni,_ ” he says gesturing with his hand. The captain closes Maul’s hand around the glass silently; he gulps it down in one go then blinks. “I feel… impaired.”

“He needs to drink more water,” the woman says to Rex. “And protein before he sleeps.”

Rex responds with something Maul has trouble following. He silently takes the plate for him and starts eating. Hmm. It is good. He doesn’t know what it is but it is good. He focuses on the food, savouring it with his entire being. He groans when the bite he takes hits his palate with spicy flavours. “ _Jat'isyc,_ ” he concludes. Very delicious.

“Better?” the captain rumbles next to him. Maul hums, eyes closed. “You can’t sleep here.”

He is right; there are too many items on the table. He crosses his arms and leans against the captain. “Maul.” He hums. “Let’s go back to the ship, alright?”

He hums again. They _will_ be more comfortable in a bunk. “Alright,” he says.

He does not really remember how they ended up on _Scimitar._ All he knows is that he’s safe, tired, and _hot._ He gets rid of his uppers hastily and lets himself be led to the bunk. He crashes on it, decides he’ll be the one shielding and promptly falls asleep.

Maul groans. Someone is snoring right next to his ear. He moves his head away, careful not to injure them. He feels awful. He hasn’t felt this awful in a while. Since… probably since the last time he saw Quinlan. He is comfortable here. He pulls the blanket higher, snuggling closer then falls back asleep.

He is startled awake when he is rolled on his back. Maul pulls him up against him, curls his arms around him and falls back asleep.

He wakes up with a weight on his chest. He opens his eyes blearily and looks down. His eyes widen immediately.

He sees the crown of a head full of blond hair lying on top of him, broad shoulders hugging his waist, and he is suddenly aware of the rapid pace of his hearts. Captain Rex is sleeping on him.

The captain is sleeping on him. Maul has no idea how he ended up here.

He grows more aware of his surroundings. He cannot feel anyone else inside the ship. He does not know if it is better or worse. The captain groans in his sleep and twitches. Maul closes his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony_. 

There has to be an explanation. Other than—there has to be a better explanation. 

He does not know what to do. Should he wake him up? Should he wait? How awkward is it going to be if the captain realises Maul has been awake and staring at him for a while if he waits? What is he supposed to say if he wakes him up?

“Hmm,” the captain mumbles. Maul tenses. “What’s wrong.” He blinks and finds himself at loss for words. “ _Vod,_ what’s wrong.”

Maul opens his mouth a couple of times but isn’t able to talk. “I’m sorry if I woke you up,” he settles on. The captain tenses immediately at his words and sits back up abruptly.

“Maul,” he blurts out. “I—I mean, _sir_ —I—”

“ _Jate, alor’ad,_ ” he murmurs soothingly. The captain’s eyes widen. 

It occurs to Maul that Rex is straddling his waist. He can feel how his muscles relax but his senses sharpen, focusing on the captain—the way his chest quickly rises and falls with each breath he takes, how his fingers twitch around his thighs, nails digging in the skin, the slow flutter of his eyelids every time he blinks, the way his lips part when Maul pushes himself up on his elbows to close the distance between them.

Maul closes his eyes. Force, he is doing it again. He should be better than this. He needs to calm his body down. He should—He _cannot_ do this. He cannot put Rex in a position in which he may not be able to refuse. His horns ache. He drank last night; he is sure of it. He hears the captain shivering and has to swallow down a groan. Oh, no. Did they—Last night, did he—

“Did you know Bespin Fizz has Quanya in it?”

Quanya? Ah. It may explain why he cannot remember last night—Quanya is a psychoactive drug for Zabraks. Stat will never let him live it down if he learns about this. “Please don't tell Stat,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. The pressure does not alleviate the hammering pain in his skull. 

The captain chuckles. “What do you remember?”

Maul winces. He had hoped, for an instant, that Rex would have volunteered information, thus avoiding this awkward exchange. “Not much,” he admits, staring at the captain’s hands. “I remember my first drink. After that, I—I’m afraid I do not remember much.” 

The captain recollects the events easily. Maul is both extremely relieved and mortified. He flops back down on the mattress and groans, putting a hand over his eyes when Rex tells him about the Iridonian.

“She meant well,” he tells him and the laugh is evident in his voice. Maul takes a peak between his fingers just to see him smile. And he does. He is so beautiful in the soft lighting of the ship. Maul closes his eyes back. _Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony._ He repeats it as many times as needed to empty his mind. He must be better than this.

Why does Rex have to be _everything_ he likes? Why can't he have something that would be an immediate deal breaker? 

“She thought I was taking advantage and I thought she did. It led to an interesting conversation.”

“Oh?” he hears himself say. He hopes he did not participate or say something incriminating.

“You didn't listen to a word we say. You ate the entire plate of kragnols.”

“I _did_?” He has no memories of this. He doesn't even like kragnols. “How many were there?”

Rex laughs. “Enough for two, at least.”

He groans. He rolls to the side as the same time the captain tries to get up, making him wobble and drop down on top of him. Maul instinctively puts his arms around him to prevent him from falling off the bed. He stares at him with wide eyes. 

“It is still early,” he says without thinking. “Do you want to sleep?”

“ _Yes_ —er, I mean, sure, yes. If you want.” He clears his throat. “Senator.”

It takes a very long moment before any of them moves. Rex is the first to act—slowly, very slowly, his body relaxes on top of his and he puts his head down on his chest. Maul suppresses any reaction to this. He lets one of his arms curl around the captain’s shoulders and bites his lip when he hears him sigh. Rex falls asleep immediately.

Maul is definitely _not_ alright. He is playing a dangerous game. He is not fool enough to shield himself from the truth; having Rex sleeping on top of him is nothing like having his men do. It is far from being platonic on his end and he knows he is making a grave mistake indulging in it. 

But Rex looks exhausted. He probably is and Maul has no idea if he has been relaxed enough to let his guard down since Ahsoka Tano left. Maul found him wandering far away from the barracks in the middle of the night—to say he has doubts would be an understatement. 

The captain sighs heavily in sleep, the remaining tension in his muscles slowly seeping out of him. Maul does not try to send a suggestion to his mind; he already knows the touch would not be welcome and Rex’s shields are too strong for him to do so. The captain's mind still remains a mystery to him. 

Maul falls asleep without even meaning to.

  
  


When he wakes up again, he can feel Rex is already awake. His head is still lying on top of his chest. He opens his eyes to observe him.

He is staring at the open door with a frown. He looks so dejected Maul cannot stop his hand from curling tighter on his shoulder. “Would you like to talk?” he asks.

“About what,” the captain asks in return with a frown, eyes remaining on the exit. “There's nothing to talk about.” He sighs heavily. “Tup commed Dogma, didn't he.”

Maul smiles. “They are close, _alor’ad._ He wanted to talk with his brother. Can you blame him?”

“No,” he replies.

“Where is Cody?”

“Outer Rim. On a campaign.” He clears his throat. “You didn't have to come.”

“We wanted to,” he tells him. “Maybe we're here because I had to go to the Temple.”

The captain sets his chin on top of his chest and stares at him with raised eyebrows. “Last night you told me you didn't want to and didn't plan on alerting them you're here.”

Ah. 

“What were you doing last night?” Maul asks, trying to steer the conversation back to potentially less dangerous territories. 

“I just—” He sighs, averting his gaze. “That's the last level we saw her in before—” He frowns. “I don't know. Maybe… maybe she's still there. I’m just thinking that, _maybe—_ if I can at least talk to her…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Maul observes for a moment. He smiles. “I have nothing planned for the day,” he tells him. “I’d be happy walking around Coruscant.” When Rex’s eyes slide back to him, he shrugs. “Nothing compels you to look for her on your own.”

After a while, the captain says, “You don’t have to, Senator.”

“No,” Maul replies. He smiles softly. “But I want to.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a (mandoa.org)  
> tat’eki ⇔ vod’ika  
> \- me’bana: what’s happening/what happened  
> \- chakaaryc hut'uun: rotten coward  
> \- elek: yes
> 
> Huttese (completewermosguide.com)  
> \- tagwa: yes  
> \- eh: yeah  
> \- uba naga wateela: do you want water
> 
> There's a maulrex discord server now—[come join us](https://discord.gg/Awqc2FB)!
> 
> (Also, I posted a [separate one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453262)! It was supposed to be an actual part of the fic but it didn’t feel right to post it before Rex’s POV and I couldn’t post it after because it wouldn’t fit in the timeline since it’s about Feral,,,,so it’s a tie-in fic? I guess?)


End file.
